


Blue Jeans

by Ceruleanblues00



Category: The Vampire Diaries, the originals - Fandom
Genre: Boys in leather vests, Camille is not the enemy, Caroline doesn't know what to do with her life, F/M, Klaroline, Klaus needs to control his temper, Klaus on a Harley, Kol is a good bro, Liz Forbes has a secret, Matt is a good bro, Not another bar, Possessive Klaus, Stebekah - Freeform, Stefan Is A Good Bro, They all have secrets, They are all good bros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2018-12-15 07:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11801184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceruleanblues00/pseuds/Ceruleanblues00
Summary: AU. Matt coughed uncomfortably. "Caroline, this is Klaus Mikaelson, President of The Originals. Klaus, this is Caroline Forbes."





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! So I've managed to snag an account here on Ao3, and at the moment, it'll be just reposts of my stories from FF. This is the first story that I've written for the TVD fandom, and it's one that I've collaborated with my very good friend, sneakercladbrunette (on Tumblr).
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> xXx  
> CeruleanBlues

# Part 1

**Blue jeans, white shirt**  
**Walked into the room you know you made my eyes burn**  
**It was like James Dean, for sure**  
**You're so fresh to death and sick as ca-cancer**

Niklaus stood shivering in the frigid rain. His clothes were soaked through; his dirty blonde hair plastered to his head as harsh droplets pelted down on the intricate patch adorning his leather-clad back. Staring numbly down at the plain tombstone, he ignored the biting wind that assaulted his tear-stained cheeks, and for the first time in his life, he was lost.

Lost in his guilt.

Lost in his failure.

Lost in the maelstrom of emotions swimming in his gut and pressing onto his chest.

He inhaled a shaky breath, reading and re-reading the name carved into the granite—a name that had sent men quaking in their boots, a name that had him falling to his knees, a name that was only ever uttered in fear—and realized that it would never sound the same again.

Mikael Mikaelson.

President of Virginia’s most notorious outlaw biker gang called The Originals.

Advocator of violence, murder and drug trafficking.

A sinner.

A ruthless leader.

Devoted husband, and a father to five sons and a daughter.

But three days ago, he was shot and stabbed in cold blood. A rival gang had intercepted while he was on his way home from Church—a group meeting—and had fled, leaving him for dead in the middle of the road. No evidence, no sloppy fingerprints, no tire tracks; it was a clean job, the work of fucking cowards who didn’t have dick or decency to confront him like a man.

His fingers were curled into clenched fists at his sides, his nails digging into his skin, his knuckles turning white as his entire body trembled with barely restrained rage. Upon his father’s grave, he swore to avenge his death; to make those bastards pay, and to stop at nothing until Mikael was able to properly rest in peace.

“Klaus?”

He lifted his head, noticing that his fellow brother, Stefan Salvatore, had appeared beside him, holding an umbrella over his head to shelter them from the downpour. The man’s face was kind, his presence calmly reassuring in this stormy moment, and Klaus blinked wordlessly, the understanding crossing between them in their silent exchange. It was oddly reminiscent of their first encounter, and Klaus was instantly transported back to that fateful day.

The road captain and the prospect.

“You ready to go?”

Klaus took one last look down at the tombstone, sent a final prayer up above and whispered the club’s motto one more time.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice raspy. “I’m ready.”

 

It was still mildly drizzling when Caroline pulled into her driveway. She sat behind the wheel for a while longer and sighed. If there was one thing that she didn’t miss being back home, it was the unpredictable weather. Already she was having separation anxiety from her dorm room back in UGA. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to have graduated summa cum laude; staying another year sounded perfect right about now. As much as she hated to admit it, she was lost.

Lost in her insecurities.

Lost in her visions for the future.

Lost in realization that she didn’t have a definite purpose in life.

A knock on her window jolted her back to the present. She turned to find her mother peering in, one eyebrow arched questioningly at her daughter’s odd behavior.

Liz Forbes.

Mystic Falls’ town sheriff.

Big on ensuring that justice was served, and low on tolerance for adolescent drama.

A hero.

A role model.

Single parent to a twenty-three-year-old who still had no clue what to do with herself.

“Are you just going to coop yourself up in there for the rest of the day or are you going to join the rest of us in the land of the living?”

Caroline rolled her cornflower blue eyes and reluctantly unbuckled her seatbelt before stepping out of her prized Ford Fiesta and into the welcoming—though, slightly awkward—arms of the older woman. The embrace was sorely lacking in warmth—a result of being a hardened cop—but it was familiar nonetheless, and she sank into it for a quiet moment.

“Why don’t we go inside before we start looking like a pair of drowned rats?” Liz suggested tersely with a nod, the tranquility short-lived as she pulled away and promptly climbed the stairs leading up to the porch.

Caroline stifled another sigh from escaping between her pursed lips and tucked some stray strands of hair behind her ear, wondering bitterly why she had expected anything different coming from the sheriff.

“Sure, mom,” she replied to nobody in particular.

 

As Vice President of The Originals—and next in line to the proverbial throne—Klaus was naturally bumped up to fill his father’s role in the club. His first act as President was to shift the ranks around. Kol, his younger brother, was made VP—he had high hopes for the little shit—while he gave the Sergeant-at-Arms position to his most trusted friend, Stefan.

The room fell silent, the loss still too fresh to speak of.

“Do we have any leads on those bastards?” Klaus growled out through gritted teeth as he regarded the ten men present in front of him. “I want to know who the fuck killed my father, and I want to know where the bloody hell they are.”

His demands were met with more stony silence.

“Answer me!” he roared, slamming his palms down on the polished dark oak surface of the conference table. Rising to his feet, Klaus leaned forward; his shoulders hunched over, and brought his scowling face out of the shadows and into the light, his chest heaving as he seethed. “I said, answer me!”

“It could be anybody, Klaus,” Stefan bravely replied. “We’ve got rival gangs up our asses all the way from Mexico. Any of those MCs could’ve wanted to kill Mikael.”

“Why don’t we fucking kill them all, then?” Klaus spat out. “One by one; we smoke them out.”

“Let’s be reasonable, big brother,” Kol was quick to jump in before the older sibling could start another unforgettable rampage. “We don’t need to pin another target on our backs. Father’s murder could be the result of a personal vendetta.”

Klaus glowered at him. “We swore an allegiance, Kol. Family above all. No matter what. Mikael’s death will not go unpunished.”

“I’m not saying that we let those fucking wankers live, Nik,” the newly-elected second-in-command shot back darkly. “We’ll find them, I swear, but I’ll need to know that the rest of us won’t have to clean up after you if you do something hasty.”

His steely eyes snapped up to meet those of his own flesh and blood. “You’re forgetting who you’re talking to, baby brother. I’m King, now, and I’ll be damned if anybody gets in my way. Those putrid pests will pay one way or another, and I won’t hesitate to send any of you to an early grave if you choose to stop me; do I make myself clear?”

Stefan slowly stood up, adjusting his leather vest. “We’ll find them, Klaus.”

He smirked, pacified for the time being. 

“Good. I want them alive.”

 

“So, Caroline, have you figured out what you’d like to do with that degree of yours?”

Of course, the infamous Spanish Inquisition.

One of the many reasons why she skipped Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and New Year, and birthdays. They were simply opportunities to remind her of her non-existent ambitions.

The blonde in question might’ve speared the piece of roasted carrot a bit too forcefully, quickly shoving it into her mouth to prevent a snarky remark from exiting without consent. She made a point to exaggerate on every munch and chew, purposely delaying the inevitable while studiously avoiding her mother’s judgmental gaze.

“I’m thinking of taking some time to travel, actually,” Caroline told her mother. “Get out of the country, see what the world has to offer.”

Liz wasn’t impressed. “In other words, you don’t have a plan.”

“That is the plan, mom,” she hissed.

The sheriff folded her arms across her chest. “And how, pray tell, are you financing this plan of yours?”

Caroline daintily placed her fork down onto the table and straightened her spine. “I’ll get a job,” she announced. “I heard Mystic Grill is hiring.”

“You’re going to be a bartender?” Liz deadpanned in a disapproving manner.

“They’re in need of a waitress, actually,” Caroline retorted sardonically. “Matt mentioned that they could use an extra pair of hands.”

“Matt Donovan?”

A frown made an appearance on her face, knowing where the conversation was heading. “We broke up years ago, mom, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

“He’s on the police’s radar, Care.”

“What?” she gaped, stupefied. “Why?”

The stoic demeanor of an officer was back. “The Originals have their eyes on him as a potential prospect to the club.”

Caroline scoffed incredulously. “Matt? What does he know about bikes? And since when did he start hanging out with those thugs?”

“Since they’ve successfully recruited Jeremy Gilbert.”

Her eyes bulged at the unsuspecting information. “Elena’s brother?”

They had been really close friends in high school; it came as a shock, especially considering how tight their families had been. Elena and her were practically sisters, constantly joined at the hip, not one without the other.

Late night study sessions that ended up in giggles and tubs of ice cream.

Sleepovers spent gossiping about the cutest senior boys.

Parties where they had both gotten so wasted, Jeremy had to rescue them just before curfew and help them sober up at a nearby park.

Barbeques with one unfortunate food poisoning incident.

Pep rallies, homecoming, prom and the Miss Mystic Falls pageant.

Those were just memories now; fragments of her past, of simpler times. How sad was that?

“I don’t want you anywhere near them, you hear me?” Liz warned her solemnly.

“Yeah, sure, mom.”

 

Klaus was brooding. He’d long taken up perch at a lone corner at the end of the bar, nursing his fifth glass of bourbon—being a big bad biker didn’t mean he was classless—and though it wouldn’t look good for his image to appear so defeated, it was still sufficiently better than indulging in a self-satisfying killing spree. Still, his patch was on full display, and he had a pair of guns safely tucked away in his shoulder holster; it would be easy enough to put a bullet in someone’s head should they dare to even think of approaching him.

“You okay, dude?”

He cringed at the juvenile calling and chose to ignore it, throwing back the rest of the liquid in his glass. “Don’t, Matty boy. It’s—just don’t.”

Matt snatched a rag and began wiping down the counter in an attempt at doing his job, though his sight remained trained on the President. “Have you guys found the culprit, yet?” he muttered.

“I’m not telling you dick until I own your arse in the club,” Klaus replied with a sneer. “You’re just a supporter; you don’t get to ask questions.”

“I don’t even have a bike.”

Klaus narrowed his eyes at the potential prospect, scrutinizing every twitch in his facial expression. “You won’t need one right now, though I’m fairly curious why Jeremy would want to sponsor you, Matt. You look like a decent kid; someone who’d save stray dogs and volunteer at the soup kitchen. I recall you being quite a little bitch when your ex-girlfriend became the Old Lady of my Secretary. You wanted nothing to do with The Originals. Why the sudden change of heart?”

The moment of hesitation only heightened Klaus’ suspicions as Matt nervously darted his gaze around.

“Look, can I talk to you after my shift—”

“Matt Donovan!”

The ex-quarterback snapped to attention when he looked up at the woman whose voice commanded so much authority. Klaus watched in amusement as he stuttered incoherently for a split second, before schooling his features into one of indifference.

“Caroline,” he greeted nervously. “What a nice surprise.”

A flash of blonde appeared in Klaus’ periphery, though he refused to acknowledge the newcomer. Miffed at her rude interruption, he swore to blow her brains out of her skull before the end of the day. Searching for something else to occupy his hands, Klaus began passing his glass back and forth between his palms.

“Don’t you dare, Donovan,” she bit out venomously, a fist planted on the side of her hip. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Matt was at a loss. “I don’t—what are you referring to, exactly?”

Klaus felt the corner of his lips curl up in a smirk. The girl—this Caroline—had the fire, spunk and determination that he personally admired in a woman, not to mention how all that passion would no doubt translate in bed. Curious now, he turned to face her and was instantly hit by her spellbinding beauty. She was timeless, radiant and unlike any other woman he’d met before, and she was simply adorable in her annoyance; cheeks flushed and golden curls wind-blown.

“The Originals?” she screeched, arms flailing animatedly in the air. “What the hell, Matt!”

Klaus’ interest was certainly piqued at the mere mention of his club, unbeknownst to her that she was in fact currently standing next to its President.

“Erm…Caroline—”

“I had to hear it from my mom,” she continued disdainfully. “And now I’m officially banned from being near you because you’re affiliated to a bunch of criminal outlaws with a penchant for leather and an obsession with their Harleys. I need this job, Matt, and it’s all your stupid fault! What's the point of a damn degree if I have no clue what to do with it—”

“Caroline!”

“What?”

He made a discreet gesture, jerking his head towards the man now witnessing her rant with barely-concealed mirth. She was truly a magnificent thing. Granted, a tad bit neurotic and over-bearing, but he had had to deal with Kol for a brother and Rebekah for a sister. Neutralizing Caroline would seem like a cakewalk next to his aggravating siblings.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll just—”

Matt coughed uncomfortably. “Caroline, this is Klaus Mikaelson, President of The Originals. Klaus, this is Caroline Forbes.”

Realization dawned on both parties.

“You’re Mikael’s son?”

“You’re Sheriff Forbes’ daughter?”

Matt glanced between the two.

“Well, this is going to be interesting.”

 

She left; practically bolted out the door and wondered why she hadn’t noticed the black Dyna Super Glide parked just outside earlier on. So focused she was trying to get away that she hadn’t seen the other person until she was bulldozing straight into him. There was a light clatter and her purse slipped off her shoulder, but then she was sprawling on the sidewalk, knocked off her feet.

“Jesus,” she groaned, rubbing at a sore spot. It was going to bruise, she just knew it.

“Apologies, sweetheart. Didn’t see where I was going.”

Was there a British Invasion she didn’t know about when she was away in Georgia?

Caroline lifted her head as a hand extended out into her line of vision. He was boyishly handsome, with a nice smile and a pair of dark bottomless eyes that were twinkling with mischief, as though he held the world’s best kept secret. Her fingers were inches from brushing against his when her gaze slid down to the colors adorning the front of his vest.

Kol. Vice President.

She withdrew back into herself and hustled to gather her fallen items. Brushing the dirt off her pants, Caroline rose on her own, completely ignoring his offered help. He shrugged, not the least bit offended, and she took a tentative step away before he could change his mind and decide to snap her neck.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “You seem rather…spooked.”

“I’m fine,” she said breathlessly. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to bump into you.”

His grin turned leery as he took her in from head to toe. “Oh, no, it was my absolute pleasure,” he drawled.

If he weren’t a dangerous biker, she probably would’ve kneed him in the balls for that innuendo-laced remark. As such, she valued her life, so she gnawed on the insides of her cheek and scampered off towards her car.

And when she drove away, he was still glued to the spot, watching intently as she sped off down the road. Glancing up at the rearview mirror, she caught him throwing her a salute. Her grip only tightened on the steering wheel.

“Damn bikers.”

 

“My, my, dear brother. This is the last place that I’d expect to find you sulking away.”

That voice never failed to grate on his nerves.

“Fuck off, Kol,” Klaus snarled menacingly. “Sulking is for five-year-olds with daddy issues. I don’t need you hovering about when I know that you have much more important things to attend to, namely finding those bastards who murdered our father.”

“Relax, Nik. I’ve sent Damon and Tyler out to gather Intel.” Kol hopped onto the barstool and motioned for Matt to get him a glass of his favorite scotch—the one that was ever only exclusively available to him; the shit was some expensive import after all—before turning to face his older sibling. Klaus glowered at him as he dropped a cellphone onto the countertop. “Look what I’ve got.”

“Are you turning into a proper kleptomaniac now?” he quipped. “Because I have an entire list of things that you could steal that would benefit us more than a mobile would.”

“I just met this girl, Nik—”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“A blonde—”

“Well, that’s a change.”

“And this is her phone,” Kol declared triumphantly.

Klaus sighed. “Now, I’m aware of your utter ignorance for social norms, but if you’d wanted a date with her, all you needed was her fucking phone number; less psycho stalker.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, and why I’m the one who isn’t wallowing in my own pity party. You’re making us look bad, you know.”

“Please,” Klaus gestured for him to elaborate. “Enlighten me with your shallow wisdom.”

Kol took a sip of his drink, eyeing his brother in an intriguing manner. “Okay, this is unacceptable. I will not have you be the wet blanket around here. It’s doing things to my magnificent visage. We’re going to have some fun.”

Klaus groaned, because his little brother had a slightly skewed perception of fun that entailed a night of drinking and debauchery and everything else in between. Not that the idea of smoking his brains into oblivion wasn’t fun; or damaging his liver wasn’t promising; or that fucking a whore wasn’t entertaining anymore. If anything, he was usually the first to lead the cavalry into an explicit episode. Unfortunately, the appeal was lacking that afternoon.

“Not today, Kol.”

“Look, the boys are asking for you, and as VP, I can’t allow you to continue like this. They’re relying on you, Nik,” Kol coaxed, slapping his brother on the back. “Get out of this shit hole, and let’s have a good time, eh? Take your mind off your rather pathetic, dismal life.”

“Watch it,” Klaus uttered dangerously. “Or I’ll shoot you in the foot right here and not bat an eyelash.”

Kol snorted, clearly not intimidated by the umpteenth threats placed on his person ever since he was born. “You’re being a dull sour puss, and the only way to rectify that is for you to get laid.”

“Unlike you, baby brother, I’m not driven by my libido.”

“That’s a fucking load of bull,” Kol said, tossing back the last of his scotch. “I’m getting you out of here and then we’re finding you a tasty little thing to ravish to your heart’s content.”

Klaus frowned. “The last time that happened, I was stuck with a needy, clingy bitch who refused to let me go, so no thank you.”

“One of our prospect’s got a new Old Lady.”

He was definitely not interested in a strumpet with bad boy issues, and more often than not, they were just unnecessary trouble. The drama with Hayley and Tyler had been messy enough—especially when they had found out that she had been stealing their stash and dealing them to fellow rivals—and she was a quick fix—the cops still hadn’t found her body yet—but it only reinforced his suspicions on newcomers.

“Have you done a background check on her?”

Kol nodded. “Stefan did; she’s clean. A couple of pick-pocketing incidents and some outstanding parking tickets, two dead parents, no siblings, a high-school drop-out; I’m not the least bit surprised.”

“Sounds like she’s right up your alley, then.”

“Well, she’s going to be right up something else, too, by the time I’m done with her.”

Tact wasn’t something Kol was familiar with, and Klaus had to wonder whether they were even biologically related in the first place. “Grow up, Kol.”

“If it means being a buzz kill like you, then I’d rather you shoot my foot.”

Klaus made to reach for his firearm.

“It was a figure of speech!” Kol exclaimed, holding his hands up in defense. “You really need to lighten up, big brother. You’re no fun anymore; it’s getting boring. Come on, have a night to yourself, live a little. And then tomorrow, you can go back to being the grouchy big bad wolf of Mystic Falls.”

Ever since they were boys, Klaus had never been able to refuse those blasted puppy dog eyes. It had evolved over the years, although it was no less potent, and Kol made it a habit of using it to his advantage every chance he got.

“Fine,” Klaus sighed reluctantly. “Don’t make me regret this.”

 

Caroline paced the length of her room, praying that her last hope would answer her phone. On the other end of the landline, it kept ringing, but just as she was ready to hang up, someone’s breathless voice filtered through.

“Hello?”

“Bonnie? Bonnie Bennett?”

There was a loud crackle and some shuffling, and in the background, loud thumping music could be heard in the midst of people creating a ruckus. If there was one thing Caroline was certain, it was the cacophony of either a frat party or a rowdy club.

“Yes, who’s this?” the person yelled back.

“Bon, it’s Caroline.” She didn’t know why she was shouting either, considering she was in her bedroom, but it seemed appropriate. “Caroline Forbes.”

“Who?”

“Caroline Forbes,” she repeated.

“Wait, hang on a sec.”

More scuffing and another raucous interval later, the atmosphere became immensely quieter.

“I’m sorry about that,” Bonnie winced. “I work at a bar. Who is this again?”

“It’s Caroline Forbes,” the blonde replied, slumping down onto her bed. “We went to high school together. Prom committee?”

“Oh, my God, Care?” she squealed. “How are you? Where have you been? The last I heard, you were at UGA. Why are you calling? Wait, are you okay?”

Chuckling, Caroline calmly assured her old friend that she was unharmed and wasn’t in dire need of rescue. “I need a favor from you, though.”

“What is it?”

“Are you guys hiring? I could really use a job.”

She heard Bonnie sigh in relief. 

“Babe, you are heaven-sent. I thought you’d never ask.”

 

Klaus wasn’t a hundred percent certain how he ended up in the bathtub, still fully dressed in his white—albeit slightly greasy—Henley and leather jacket. He grunted in an effort to pull himself out, and when he stood facing the door, he realized that his jeans had pooled around his boots, leaving his pants on display for anyone unlucky enough to walk past. His skull was pounding—the result of a fitful night—and his muscles were screaming from the uncomfortable sleep, but after ensuring that he was decent enough for a bunch of hungover bikers, Klaus followed the trail of empty bottles and comatose bodies to the clubhouse kitchen.

It was filthy and reeked of a stale stench; litter strewn all over every available surface, cigarette stubs haphazardly discarded, and remnants of drugs and sex lingered in the air. Fuck, it was a rat hole, and that wasn’t going to do. Spying a snoring prospect draped over the coffee table, Klaus gave him a sharp jab with his foot.

“Rise and shine,” he barked. When the doofus remained knocked out, he thwacked the back of his head. “Get up!”

“Wha—what?”

“Get your lazy, incompetent arse up and fucking clean this pig sty,” he demanded with an underlying threat to his orders. “I’m going out for breakfast, and I expect this place to be spotless when I return.”

The prospect blinked blearily. “Yes, Klaus.”

 

Caroline instantly found herself being thrown into the morning madness, swept up in the insanity that came with serving early customers their breakfast and dealing with grumpy truckers before their mandatory black coffee. Hustling out of the kitchen with a tray of food effortlessly hoisted atop her shoulder, she narrowly missed running into Anna Zhu, managing to gracefully dodge a spill. The redneck at the corner seemed impatient, so with an apology to her co-worker, Caroline proceeded to deliver his eggs, pancakes and bacon.

“Here you go, enjoy!” she chirped.

An irritated-looking man over by the window flagged her down.

“Good morning, sir, what can I get you today?” she greeted dutifully with a pencil and notepad ready, her cheeks aching from the permanent faux grin on her face.

“Took you long enough, Blondie,” he muttered gruffly, his eyes skimming the menu. “I’ll have my usual.”

Oh great, he was one of those jerks out to make her life miserable.

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m not exactly familiar with what your usual entails,” she informed him as politely as humanly possible.

He heaved a sigh condescendingly. “Toast and pancakes with a side of griddles and two slices of bacon, and for Pete’s sake I’ve been here every morning since 1995. I shouldn’t have to repeat myself to you.”

She reckoned the entire bar could hear her teeth grinding at his rude remarks, but nonetheless, her cheery façade never once faltered—she was a drama student, after all—and Caroline spun on her heels before her fist could find acquaintance with his nose.

“Order in,” she called out to the fry cook.

“How are you doing, Caroline?” Anna asked while refilling a pot of coffee.

“Like I’ve just entered purgatory—”

A deep rumbling pierced through the idle hum in the bar. The ground vibrated beneath her feet, and Caroline glanced out of the door to see a very familiar Harley pulling up just short of the entrance, as though expecting it to magically open and receive him with a red carpet. The rider blew his chromed exhaust, announcing his arrival before switching off his engine and dismounting his precious motorcycle.

And then silence.

He sauntered in like he owned the place.

Klaus Mikaelson.

“Shit,” Anna whispered. “What is he doing here?”

Caroline figured now was a good time as any to make herself as scarce as possible, but her co-worker wasn’t having any of it. With a pointed nudge and the fresh pot of coffee shoved into her hands, the task was then conveniently thrust unto her to serve the dangerous leader of The Originals.

People stayed frozen in their spots as Klaus nonchalantly picked a table and got comfortable, extending his legs out without a care that someone might trip over them. He plucked the menu from its holder and languidly perused through the options. Even doing something so mundane, he exuded authority and arrogance; it was intimidating to approach him.

She cleared her throat; stopping just inches away. “Good morning, sir, would you like some coffee?”

His intense gaze flickered up to her face, and she prayed that he had forgotten about that unfortunate encounter the day before. It wouldn’t do her any favors to get fired on her first day on the job. Unfortunately, as she watched the recognition in his stunning blue-green eyes and the way his lips slid upwards into a smirk.

“I’ll have none of that, love,” he drawled, the lilt in his accent causing some unmentionable stirring in her gut. “And please, it’s Klaus. It seems that you’ve managed your jobless situation just fine.”

“No thanks to you.” 

“I do apologize on Matt’s behalf if his association with me has caused you some distress.”

Whatever she was expecting, that definitely wasn’t it.

“Yes, well…” she trailed off, flicking the stray strands of hair away. “What can I get for you?”

He tilted his head, meticulously studying her from head to toe, and she fidgeted uneasily under his close scrutiny. “Some eggs and bacon would suffice; less on the heart attack, if you would so kindly let Colin know, and tea would be lovely.”

“Got it,” she nodded.

“Is it just me, or was Klaus actually having a civil conversation with you?” Anna murmured between arranging plates of food on her tray.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a conversation,” Caroline hissed, relaying the order to their fry cook. “You heard him, Colin. Less on the heart attack, but could you do me a favor and add in a bit of diabetes and high blood pressure? Bonus points if you’re able to slip in a dose of HIV.”

She noticed the play on Klaus’ expression, his eyebrow quirking in amusement as he continued regarding her with unmasked interest. He caught her stealing a glimpse and turned smug. Not wanting him to have the satisfaction of seeing her be flustered from all his attention, Caroline made herself useful bussing some tables. He was busy texting on his cellphone—which still bothered her since she seemed to have misplaced hers—when she brought his food over, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“You’re not going to join me, love?”

She pretended to contemplate on his offer. “Thanks, but I'd rather just die.”

“Oh, come on,” he insisted, gesturing to the empty chair. “Have a seat.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m working and—”

“I dare you.”

Caroline never could resist a challenge, but giving in to the urge wasn’t worth getting fired over. However, as she stared down at Klaus’ conceited face, the magnetic pull to rise up to the occasion was too tempting to pass up. Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder in search of her manager, Alaric Saltzman, but he was nowhere in sight.

“Don’t worry, Caroline,” Klaus added, as though he was reading her concerns. “I’m sure dear old Ric wouldn’t mind. I know you want to.”

“Okay, first of all, let me get one thing straight,” she began heatedly. “We’re not friends. I’m tolerating you because you’re a paying customer, but I won’t stand here and listen to you try and flirt your way into my pants. I’m not one of your skanky pillions, Klaus. You can find them down that road and around the corner—”

“Wait a fucking minute,” he snapped, now agitated by her baseless accusations, and rose to his full height, a good few inches taller than her. “I will not have you spouting utter shit about me. I was merely engaging in a friendly conversation, but apparently, you found that offensive enough to deduce that I wanted to have sex with you?”

“I know your kind, Klaus—”

“You don’t know anything about me!” he roared, taking a step closer to her, his back rigid and fists tightly clenched at his sides.

“I know enough about you to know that you’re a monster!”

The rage drained from his features and transformed into something much more malicious as he glowered down his nose at her. “You have no idea, do you?”

Caroline reckoned that she ought to be terrified for her life, but she was too riled up to care. Fuck the consequences; she was giving him a piece of her mind. “You’re a heartless murderer. You kill people without remorse and you rip families apart, and then you brag about it like it’s something to be proud of when it’s not. Grow the fuck up, Klaus. What is it that you’re really trying to prove, huh?”

“Caroline, you’re beautiful, but if you don’t shut the hell up, I will kill you and I promise I will do so without remorse.”

She reeled back from the sheer cruelty of his words and swallowed the huge lump that had formed in her throat. Hot tears stung behind her eyes, though she willed them away. There was no way she was going to cry in front of Klaus fucking Mikaelson.

As if on cue, the theatrical arrival of several more bikes saved her from further potential embarrassment. Inhaling a shaky breath, Caroline smoothed her palms down on her hideous teal-colored apron and swiftly escaped into the safety of the backroom.

“Klaus is a dickhead, Care,” Colin spoke up from his station at the grill, multi-tasking as he fried some bacon. “It’s best to just let him do as he wants until he gets bored, and then he’ll just leave you alone.”

“How can anybody be so ruthless?” Caroline fumed. “Calling him Satan would be an insult to Satan!”

Anna burst into the kitchen then, looking rather harassed. “Caroline, I can really use you right about now. Klaus and his little posse are being difficult little bitches.”

“Bigger picture. Think of the bigger picture,” the blonde muttered. “It’s all going to be worth it in the end.”

 

“I remember her from yesterday,” Kol declared, gesturing his mug of coffee towards the waitress that had reappeared. “She looks like a tasty little thing.”

Klaus followed his brother’s ogling to where Caroline was striding in their direction, the obligatory smile fixed stiffly on her otherwise flawless features. She was a delectable sight, even with a hint of a grimace and ketchup stains on her white blouse.

“Say another word and I’ll tear out your liver,” he admonished.

Kol simply chuckled. “Good morning there, darling,” he intoned. “What a pleasure to see you again so soon.”

“Believe me, the pleasure isn’t mine,” Caroline retorted. “Now, are you going to eat something? If not, the door’s that way; don’t let it hit you on the way out.”

“Isn’t she stunning?” Klaus murmured as he leaned towards his second-in-command.

“I’m right here, Klaus!”

“Actually, sweetheart, I think I may have something of your interest,” Kol informed her, fishing out a device from the back pocket of his jeans and setting it on the table. “Does this look familiar to you?”

“My phone,” she gasped, snatching it up. “Where’d you find it?” 

“You dropped it during our little encounter,” he explained, making a point to make it sound as suggestive as possible, and Klaus felt his blood boil at the thought of his brother laying even a finger on her. “Troublesome, aren’t they? The way we rely entirely too much on technology.”

“What can I get for you today?” she asked primly.

“Just you.”

Klaus’ hand shot out and connected with Kol’s skull. “Don’t be a prick.”

“Fuck, Nik,” Kol winced. “I was just mucking about. What’s your deal?”

“Just tell her what you want and be done with it, will you?” he snarled.

Kol rolled his eyes. “Alright, Mr. Grumpy Pants. Caroline, darling, could you be a dear and get me the breakfast platter? Lighter on the cholesterol build-up, please, and with a side of marmalade.”

“We don’t have marmalade,” she deadpanned.

“Yes, you do. I’m sure Anna has a jar specially for me.”

“Fine,” Caroline sighed. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually,” Kol continued. “Would you do me a huge favor as to please sleep with my dear brother before he stabs me in the eye out of his sexual frustration with you?”

“What?”

Klaus stiffened as his fingers itched to give his younger brother a good schooling on propriety and manners, even though it had failed on many occasions. Kol was a peculiar child and was never one to filter every lewd thought that crept into his muddy brain. It was usually what got him into trouble more often than not, but Klaus wasn’t going to allow his business to be made the object of Kol’s entertainment.

“I am very tempted to run you over with my Harley and drag you starkers down the streets of Mystic Falls, Kol,” he sneered.

“Kinky,” the other Mikaelson commented, wagging his eyebrows.

“For fuck’s sake, just get the idiot his food, won’t you, love?”

Caroline left without another word, and Klaus didn’t hesitate to pin his brother’s head down onto the table, keeping his forearm pressed to the nape of his neck to keep him still. Almost immediately, the other three men—Stefan, Damon and Tyler, who had arrived earlier with Kol and had been sitting at a separate table—jumped to their feet, ready to intervene if needed be. Kol struggled against the hold, using every bit of his strength to try and ease his older sibling from completely cutting off his oxygen supply.

“Damn it, Nik,” he wheezed. “What the fuck’s your problem?”

Klaus brought his lips next to Kol’s ear. “Caroline is off limits, you hear?”

“Loud and clear, big brother.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, shut up, both of you,” she griped. “Klaus and I aren’t friends. End of story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! So here's part 2!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> xXx  
> CeruleanBlues

# Part 2

**You were sorta punk rock, I grew up on hip hop**  
**But you fit me better than my favorite sweater, and I know**  
**That love is mean, and love hurts**  
**But I still remember that day we met in December, oh baby!**

One day.

Two days.

Three days.

A week.

He was there every morning, promptly at 8—an hour after her shift started—seated at his usual table, and alternating between pancakes and toast. It drove Anna up the wall from all the stress, but Caroline didn’t know whether to feel irritated or flattered about the slightly overwhelming attention being showered upon her. For one thing, Klaus was always on his best behavior. He would greet her with a pleasant smile and then invite her to join him for breakfast.

If she was being honest with herself, Caroline didn’t know what to make of his sudden shift in attitude; it was baffling to say the least. Even so, she couldn’t find it in herself to complain, especially when he would give her that sincerely earnest—if not cleverly deceptive—look with those confusing blue-green puppy-dog eyes as he tried coaxing her into keeping him company while he ate. The very generous tip he never failed to leave was a nice bonus, too. Still, she was nothing is not a master of self-control. There was a list of excuses already written at the back of her head, declining his offers.

She was raised by a cop. Being wary of other people and their motives sort of came with the package, if not, practically second nature. For all intents and purposes, Klaus could very well be trying to weasel his way into her good side just to gain an advantage over the sheriff. Caroline could possibly even be a mere pawn in whatever bigger plans he had in store; what sort of dumb idiot would she be to willingly fall prey to his trap? No, she was going to follow Colin’s advice and wait it out till the gang leader got bored of playing, and then leave her alone.

Anna had warned her six ways to Sunday to constantly be cautious, and during one particular afternoon had admitted—though reluctantly—of her fleeting fling with Jeremy Gilbert while he was still a fresh prospect, that had left her a narrow brush with death. An evening with Bonnie had exposed an unfortunate encounter she once had with Damon Salvatore—he was violent when he was drunk, and had a tendency to go berserk and run amok when denied alcohol—where she was left with a two-inch scar on her right shoulder.

Keeping the distance was Caroline’s newest mantra.

On the eighth day, he brought along a sketchbook and a pencil, and each time she tried to sneak a peek, he would turn it away from her prying eyes with a shit-eating grin and an impish wink. When he would normally ride off just before the lunch crowd arrived, Caroline found him at a quarter to one, still glued to his spot with another fresh cup of tea, completely engrossed in his drawing.

“You’re still here?” she questioned when curiosity got the better of her, and her neurotic side couldn't take not knowing what he was up to. There was even a rumor going around in the kitchen that he was devising an escape route to bust his oldest brother, Finn, out of prison.

Klaus seemed surprised for a split second before his lips curled into that trademark smirk of his. “Is there some place else that I should be at that I don’t know about?” he quipped back, eyes dancing with humor.

“You’re usually out of here by eleven-thirty,” she stated dryly.

His grin only widened. “Didn’t think you’d notice, love.”

She huffed and folded her arms across her chest. “Look, if you’re going to take up space in here, you need to order more than just another cup of tea.”

“Caroline Forbes,” he gasped in faux exaggeration. “Are you asking me out for lunch?”

“Not even close, Klaus,” she replied loftily.

“You will soon enough.”

What an arrogant bastard.

With a roll of her blue eyes and a shake of her head, Caroline fished out her notepad and pencil from her back pocket. “What’s it going to be, then?”

“Go on a date with me, Caroline.”

Her fingers froze; her spine went rigid. Perhaps she had misheard him.

“I’m sorry, did you just ask me to go on a date with you?”

His dimples deepened as he leaned forward with his elbows propped onto the table. “Was I not clear about my intentions, love?”

She blinked.

“I—I—what—why?”

“I fancy you.”

She was reduced to an incoherent mute.

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes!” she blurted out.

His eyebrows shot up. “Why? You’re beautiful, you’re—you’re strong, you’re full of light. I enjoy you.”

Why did that terrify her so much?

Her laughter came out breathy and strangled. “Just to be clear, I’m too smart to be seduced by you.”

“Well, that’s why I like you.”

She tore her gaze away, the intensity in his proving too much for her to take. Cheeks flushed a deep crimson, she cleared her throat. “Okay, then, fish and chips for the stereotypical Brit, coming up.”

Then, like the gutless thing her mom thought her to be, Caroline fled.

Keeping the distance.

 

One day.

Two days.

Three days.

A week.

“This is unacceptable,” he spat out. “I don’t believe that there’s not one fucking thing; that some wanker hadn’t slipped up yet.”

Tyler Lockwood, the club’s Road Captain, shifted uncomfortably from his position at the corner of the room; head hung low and pathetically apologetic about his incompetence. Damon Salvatore, the Secretary and Stefan’s big brother, had his lips set in a thin line with his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans, staring solemnly down at the floor.

Useless deadweight; that was what they were.

“You have five seconds to give me a bloody good reason why I shouldn’t just shoot you two right now and be done with it?”

Damon had always fancied himself a hardened brute—was always off spouting dick about how he’d started a brawl at some bar, or the sprawling amount of whores he’d fucked, bragging about his chrome bits—so it didn’t come as a shock to Klaus when Tyler—just as cocky as his partner-in-crime, though not as flamboyant about it as his counterpart—was the one stupid enough to speak up.

“Crescent Wolf Clan.”

“Did that traitorous ex-girlfriend of yours run back home to daddy?” Klaus taunted in disgust. “More importantly, did you fuck any useful information out of her?”

Tyler had the cheek to look ashamed. “Not exactly—”

“I really don’t have time to play twenty questions with you, Tyler,” he growled. “Out with it.”

“Hayley mentioned that she overheard some members talking about a take-over,” he explained in one breath. “Something about a territorial dispute, but she wasn’t sure if it’s ours.”

Klaus cursed out loud. “Did one of our boys cross into their pile of wasteland without my knowledge again?”

Damon shook his head. “And be used as bait? Sure, let’s be more stupid, or better yet, run naked straight into their clubhouse?”

“I’m not in the mood for your juvenile wisecracks, Salvatore,” the President retorted, running out of patience. “Dig into it, the both of you. If it’s territorial dispute, we have no cause for war when we haven’t done anything wrong. If it has anything to do with Mikael, I want to know immediately.”

Tyler nodded curtly. “Of course, Klaus.”

“Now, get the fuck out of my sight.”

 

It was half past ten, and the fact that he wasn’t there with his tea and breakfast shouldn’t bother her so much, but it did. Much to her dismay—and Anna’s amusement—Caroline found her eyes constantly drifting towards the entrance, straining her ears for the thundering of his exhaust, and it was annoyingly affecting her concentration. Orders kept getting mixed up to the point where Colin had asked if she was feeling unwell.

She worked on routine, relying on it almost like a comfort blanket, and as much as she wasn’t ecstatic about it, she had gotten used to seeing that pompous face and hearing that honey-coated voice while she hustled about her job. This sudden change was throwing her off guard, and she hated feeling so flustered.

“What did that table ever to do you?” Anna giggled. “You look like you’re trying to burn a hole right through it.”

Caroline glanced down where her hand was still furiously scrubbing circles with a rag and paused. The surface practically glistened from the thorough cleaning. “Sorry, I’m—I’m just…”

“Distracted?”

She heaved a sigh. “Frustrated.”

“Why isn’t Klaus here today?” Anna asked flippantly as she bussed the next table.

Caroline scrunched her nose. “Why the hell should I know?”

“Aren’t you guys like, friends, or something?”

Hilarious, truly.

“We’re not friends,” Caroline grumbled. “And shouldn’t you be grateful that the asshole isn’t here today? You’re always complaining about the stress.”

Anna shrugged. “Rather me than you. You’re notorious when you’re all riled up.”

“I am not!”

“Are too!” Colin chimed in from the back of house.

“Oh, shut up, both of you,” she griped. “Klaus and I aren’t friends. End of story.”

Even as she tried convincing herself about that, Caroline didn’t miss the way Anna was grinning at her with a knowing glint in her eyes.

 

A knock on the door jolted him out of his reverie—one filled with a certain strong-headed blonde and the absolutely breath-taking addition she would make to his bed; the way he would ravish and worship her the way she deserved, how he would enjoy threading his fingers through her soft tresses and watch as she came apart in his arms—and when Kol’s head popped into the room, Klaus flicked his cigarette in his direction.

“Sod off.”

“That’s not very nice,” the younger Mikaelson remarked as he entered, stubbing the discarded stick with the heel of his boot. “Is that how you greet your little brother?” he asked and plopped down on the couch next to the brooding leader. “I heard about the Crescent Wolf Clan. Do you really think they’re behind father’s murder?”

Klaus reached for the glass of scotch. “Let’s not underestimate them, Kol,” he murmured before taking a sip. “They may be small in numbers, but a take-over usually involves more than one group. The Labonairs, while they might not be the strongest, have a relatively large following of nomads across the country supporting them. If what Tyler said was true, then there might be a chance that the CWC are working with other MCs.”

“And then what?” Kol snickered. “A split in territory?”

“Divide and conquer. Think about the bigger picture. If they wage a war against us, we might be going up against at least three other clubs in this region alone.”

Kol took a moment to ponder over it. “Why murder Mikael then? Why just him? Why not finish the rest of us?”

“It’s a warning shot.”

“Cocky bastards.”

“I’ve sent word to our other chapters to keep their ears peeled,” Klaus informed him. “If there are any whispers—even a fucking breath—of a plan of attack, we need to be the first to know.”

Kol nodded his head, produced a stick from God-knew-where and lit it up. He took a languid pull and began puffing out smoke ringlets; a tendency that irked Klaus, only because he found it positively infantile, but it only seemed to urge the younger Mikaelson all the more.

“Stop that, you git.”

He only smirked, almost in retaliation and lifted his chin. “It’s been relatively silent in your bedroom at night, Nik. Is dear Caroline still playing hard to get?”

Klaus wasn’t sure why hearing her name like that on his brother’s tongue sent his blood boiling. Even after the ample warning he had sent that fateful morning—and a series of not-so-friendly reminders that ensued—he was still feeling unnaturally protective and possessive over her; it was disconcerting. He hadn’t felt like that about anybody before, not even towards his little sister, Rebekah.

“She’ll come around,” he growled.

“Did she turn you down again?”

Narrowing his eyes to slits, Klaus hissed, “don’t you have other things to do, Kol?”

“Have you called her?”

“Why would I—I don’t even have her fucking number!”

Kol grimaced. “Major courting foul, mate. Weren’t you the one who gave me that helpful advice? Something about being less of a psycho stalker? Hate to break it to you, Nik, but you’re kind of contradicting yourself here, what with showing up for breakfast every morning just to watch her patter about and make mooning faces as she flips her hair—”

“Okay, that’s it,” Klaus burst out. “Get out! Go piss Stefan off or something.”

“But he’s out being nauseating with Rebekah,” Kol protested, but then his expression turned smug. “And I actually do have Caroline’s number. If you don’t want it, I know a handful of other men who—”

Klaus pounced and grabbed onto a fistful of Kol’s shirt, twisting the fabric as he jerked his sibling to his feet. Nose to nose, he seethed into the lad’s face.

“Delete it,” he demanded, voice low and ominous.

“Oh, come on, Nik—”

“Delete it!” he bellowed. “Before I sink you down to the bottom of the Pacific with the remains of your beloved phone.”

Not one to easily cower under his brother’s rage, Kol stared right back. Playing with fire was a pastime, and though he enjoyed pushing Klaus’ buttons, even he wasn’t stupid enough to tempt the president’s limit. Reaching into his back pocket, Kol fished out his cellphone and reluctantly handed it over.

Klaus released his brother and quickly found what he was looking for.

“You even have a fucking photo of her?”

“She has quite a penchant for taking selfies,” Kol commented, only to find himself pinned with a glare. “But I only have that one photo, I swear.”

Knowing that his brother was a compulsive liar, Klaus made an extra effort to double check that there wasn’t even a single trace of her left in his cellphone. Only when he was completely satisfied did he return the device.

“Cheers, Kol.”

“Yeah, well, if I had known that she’d have the misfortune of dealing with you, I wouldn’t have bothered in the first place.”

“Fuck. Off.”

 

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow! Drive safe!” Caroline called out cheerfully as she exited the kitchen and headed out the door after completing her long shift. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she rummaged through its contents for her car keys.

“Good evening, love.”

With a startled yelp, she dropped everything in her hands and whirled around. His accent left little to no doubt as to whom it was, but finding him lounging nonchalantly against his iconic motorbike, almost as if he had been waiting for her, unleashed a million butterflies in her stomach. Caroline wasn’t sure if it was the effects of not seeing him that morning, but she was fairly certain that she shouldn’t feel such a strong pull to his presence.

“Klaus,” she greeted cordially.

“Did you miss me?”

It took more wit than she had anticipated just rolling her eyes. “You wish,” she scoffed.

“That I do,” he purred, walking—swaggering, almost—to stand an arm’s length away from her. “Now, Caroline, have you given it some thought to my offer?”

“What offer?”

He arched an eyebrow. “For a date.”

Honestly, she couldn’t keep it out of her head if she tried. In a different world—or a parallel dimension—perhaps she wouldn’t even have given it a second thought. Her love life had been dismal—non-existent—and it wouldn’t hurt to humor him with an evening out to dinner. However, reality—cruel thing that is—had presented her with the leader of Mystic Falls’ most feared gangs. He was bad news; a warning label permanently slapped across his forehead, and she would most probably be condemned to hell by her mother for even associating herself with him. Heck, she shouldn’t even be engaging in any forms of contact or conversation.

It was best for everyone if she stayed away.

“I have, actually,” she replied with a confidence that she didn’t believe in.

Those damn dimples appeared. “So what time should I pick you up?”

“How about a quarter to never?”

“Oh, come on,” he crooned, shifting so much closer than she would’ve liked. “Take a chance, Caroline.” His fingers inched forward, hovering just shy of her wrist, but the heat emanating from his skin sent a shiver down her spine. “I know you want to.”

Her tongue darted out on its own accord to wet her dry lips, and she noticed for a second how his eyes flickered from the movement. “Well, I think I’d rather not.”

“Does this have something to do with the sheriff? A conflict of interest, then?”

Was he a mind reader now?

“Look, Klaus,” she began calmly; not wanting to aggravate him, knowing that what she was about to tell him wouldn’t bode well with his ego. “I can’t. There’s no way anything between us would work. We’re from completely different worlds, and not to mention that you’re definitely not somebody that I should be with and—”

“Is this you judging a book by its cover?” he cut in somewhat brusquely. “Just blindly agreeing to what everybody thinks without finding it out for yourself?”

She balked. “No, that’s not what—”

“That’s exactly what it is,” he fumed. “You know what, Caroline, before you go around making assumptions about people, perhaps you’d like to get to know them first. You see the bike and the patch and the tattoos, and you don't see anything past that but the blood and the violence—”

“Klaus—”

“But we’re more than that. We’re so much more than what society or the community thinks of us,” he carried on, passionate in his code of honor. “We’re a brotherhood; we don’t conform to the fucking law only because it hasn’t been kind to us, so we take matters into our own hands. It’s not a pretty world we live in, but we’re all responsible for our own survival—”

“Okay!” she announced. “Okay, fine! Yes!”

He regarded her silently.

“Fine,” she sighed, blowing strands of hair out of her face. “I’ll go on a date with you.”

She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed and promptly found herself transfixed on the two moles punctuating the column of his neck. Lifting her gaze, she found his eyes penetrating into her deepest soul, the hues of blue and green intermingling into a pool of hidden desires.

“Why?”

Caroline barely heard it; the word uttered so inaudibly, she would’ve missed it if she hadn’t been staring so intently at his mouth.

“Because I believe you.”

Time passed.

One minute.

Two minutes.

And then he backed up until he was by his Harley, and plucked the skullcap helmet hanging from one end of his handlebar, extending it out for her to take.

“You coming, then?”

 

The wind whipped against his face; the cool night perfect for riding out into the vast span of road ahead. His Dyna thundered down the highway, the rumbling of his Twin Cam engines reverberating through the stillness between the rolling hills, but the only thing Klaus could hear was the thrumming of Caroline’s heart against his leather-clad back. Her arms were wound tight around his torso, almost to the brink of crushing his ribcage, and he wondered with amusement if she had even been on a bike before.

“You need to ease up on the hold, love,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t help either of us if I suffocate and run us off the road.”

“Where the hell are you taking me, Klaus?” she asked for the umpteenth time that evening as she loosened her grip just marginally.

“Patience; we’re not far off now.”

A couple of winding miles later, he pulled up in front of a quaint little cottage a ways off from the main road. Gravel crunched beneath his tires as Klaus came to a stop, parking his bike next to the other ten that were lining the driveway while loud ruckus could be heard emanating from inside. Just as Caroline dismounted, a middle-aged lady exited the house in flannel and jeans, and greeted them from the porch.

“Niklaus? Is that you?”

“Now, who else would it be, Lillian?” he quipped, his tone uncharacteristically soft and endearing as he placed one hand on the small of Caroline’s back to guide her forth. “I hope you don’t mind me bringing a guest?”

“Nonsense, not at all,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand.

The wood creaked beneath their feet as the two climbed the steps.

“Lillian, you’re looking more beautiful each day,” Klaus intoned, dropping a peck to her cheek. “This is Caroline Forbes,” he introduced. “Caroline, I would like you to meet Lillian Salvatore, Stefan and Damon’s mother. She also ensures that the boys and I receive proper nourishments other than just burgers and booze.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” she smiled warmly, shaking the older woman’s hand.

“Forbes?” Lillian echoed, eyes wide. “Liz’s girl?”

Caroline shrugged. “I guess it’s not much of a secret when your mom’s the town sheriff.”

“Oh, Liz and I go way back,” she explained nostalgically. “We went to high school together. She was my captain in the swim team and we were quite close for a while, and then college happened, of course…”

“That’s great! Maybe you two could—”

Amber alert.

“Alright, ladies,” Klaus interrupted before things could get too cozy. “As much as it pains me to break up this little bonding experience, I am rather famished. I trust that you’ve made your special Shepherd’s pie, Lillian?”

The older brunette gave him a knowing smile. “I’ve saved an entire tray just for you, honey.”

“Shepherd’s pie? Really?” Caroline rolled her baby blues and nudged his shoulders with her own. “How stereotypically British of you, Klaus.”

He chuckled, thoroughly enjoying this playful side of her. Away from prying eyes, it seemed that her inhibitions were lowered, and watching her like this was incredibly thrilling, not to mention the stirring he had felt in his groin every time she so much as aimed a smidge of her attention his way. There was never a doubt that he wanted her—all of her—and he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted; always. 

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, love.”

“Come on inside, then,” Lillian said, ushering them through the door where they were automatically welcomed by a chorus of hoots and whistles from some twelve men or so.

Klaus craned his neck around when he sensed Caroline retreating, using his body almost as a shield, and for a moment, he was worried that he might have overwhelmed her a bit with the boisterous scene. “You alright?”

She met his concern with one of determination—petulance, even—and once again she had astounded him with her headstrong ways. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I hope you don’t mind me bringing you here for our first date,” he told her. “It’s just that, hanging with the boys kind of comes with the territory of it all, and if you’d like to know me, talking to them would be the best way.”

She gnawed on her bottom lip.

“Or we could still go somewhere else,” he spouted without really thinking about it. “I know a diner nearby here—”

“No, I’m good,” Caroline assured him. “It’s fine; I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

His pearly whites gleamed as his face lit up.

“I’ll make this worth it. I promise.”

 

Caroline didn’t know what she found more bizarre; the fact that she was sitting at a table amongst some of the most dangerous gang members in Mystic Falls and laughing along to their wild anecdotes, or the fact that she was even there to begin with. She was huddled up next to Klaus, her face buried in his chest as she tried—and failed—to stifle her giggles. Their chairs were touching and he had one arm wrapped protectively around her, the other outstretched and propped on his knee, holding a cigarette between his fingers, and she didn’t think she had felt this comfortable in her entire life. Her belly was full and the beer was cold; it was unexpectedly nice.

“The wanker was shitting in his pants,” Kol whooped gleefully, buzzed from the tobacco and alcohol. “So I cocked my gun—the safety was on, not that the son of a bitch noticed with him pissing all over the floor—and I aimed it at his dick, right, and I said to him, ‘you’re going to fucking kiss your gorgeous wife’s feet right here in front of everybody or you can kiss your fatherhood goodbye’.”

“Did he, then?” Enzo, a newly patched-in member, asked from across the table. “Get down on his fucking knees and kiss his wife’s feet?”

Kol lifted is glass of scotch in the air. “What do you think?”

The room erupted in howls of cheers and laughter, and Caroline found herself joining in heartily, wondering if it would be hypocritical of her to feel a bit sorry for the poor sod.

“Man, I can’t stand those kind of ass-holes,” Stefan added. “What kind of fucking pussy does that to his wife?”

“One with a death wish, I reckon,” Kol snickered.

Klaus leaned in, then, his breath misting over her ear. “How are you doing, love?”

And then she made the terrible mistake of glancing straight up into his hypnotic eyes, so compelling, smoldering in the way he was staring back at her as if he could devour her whole. Her breath hitched in her throat, her heart thumping in her chest, and before she could stop herself, Caroline was closing the distance. 

Their lips brushed, soft and tentative. He tasted of bourbon and smoke—a heady, deadly combination—and when his tongue darted out to trace her mouth, she released a sigh and ignored the warning bells ringing in the hazy surface of her conscience, finally giving in to the attraction she had felt since the first day they had met. His warm, calloused palm fluttered over her cheek to cradle the side of her face as he deepened the kiss.

Suddenly, the front door flew open.

“Stefan fucking Salvatore!” a woman screeched, effectively bursting their little bubble.

Caroline tore herself away from Klaus’ arms, flushed and slightly disoriented. In marched a blonde, her hair ironed straight, clad in a tank top, a black mini-skirt and leather knee-high boots with enough eyeliner drawn on to sponsor the Middle East. She was a siren, furious and on a warpath.

“I called you ten fucking times, Stefan,” she cried out, stomping over to the man in question, her hands planted on her hips. “I had to track your fucking phone all the way here. Do you have any idea the time I could’ve saved if you’d just fucking tell me?”

“That’s Rebekah,” Klaus informed her, keeping his voice low. “My dear sister, and Stefan’s Old Lady. She’s a fucking tart and quite a strumpet, but they’re sickeningly in love.”

Caroline turned to the club president, eyebrows raised. “Old Lady? Like his girlfriend?”

“Sweetheart, we’re not in high school,” he tutted, reaching for his drink.

She was affronted for a moment at his patronizing tone until Rebekah’s shrill complaints pierced through the air once again, incessantly accusing Stefan of one too many ridiculous notions while he silently took the hit.

“Shouldn’t someone say something?” she whispered.

“You have to be fucking mental to interrupt Bekah while she’s having an episode,” Kol chirped, his words starting to slur. “Trust me, you’d be better off watching the show from the sidelines with a bucket of popcorn.”

“Arguing is the only way they know how to show that they actually give a damn about each other,” Damon piped up.

“Okay, stop!” Stefan boomed. He rose to his feet and got into his Old Lady’s face. “You don’t get to barge in here and act like a total bitch to me when things don’t go your way—oof!”

Caroline’s jaw dropped, stunned as she watched Rebekah launch herself at the Sergeant-at-Arms and began aggressively snogging him right there in front of everybody. The blonde clung onto him like a jungle gym, her legs wrapped around his waist, and Stefan’s hands cupping the globes of her rear, and just when it seemed like the members were going to be treated to a show, Stefan shuffled out of the room towards the kitchen, their moans and grunts echoing off the walls.

“Son of a bitch,” Jeremy exclaimed. “What a fucking tease!”

“She’s my sister, you horny twat,” Klaus grumbled, pitching an empty can of soda the biker’s way. “One more word and I’ll rip your tongue out.”

“Sorry,” the boy mumbled.

With that, Caroline took it as her cue to leave. A quick check of her time told her that it was way past her bedtime, and she still had to open the diner the next morning.

“I should head home,” she told Klaus regretfully. “I have an early shift.”

“Yeah, of course,” he murmured, dropping a kiss to her shoulder. “Are you heading back to your mom’s? Because I have my own room in the clubhouse, you know, just in case—”

Caroline lightly pushed his chest. “I’m still too smart to be seduced by you.”

“We’ll see about that.”

 

He had tried to resist—had tried to be a perfect gentleman—but all it took was an entirely innocent slip of her dainty hand, down to where he was sporting a massive boner in the confines of his jeans, for his restraints to snap. After that, he didn’t think twice before making a U-turn in the middle of the empty highway and peeling down the road, Caroline clinging onto him for dear life.

Klaus practically dragged her behind him as he kicked the clubhouse door open, startling a handful of prospects sitting around playing poker and getting high off their horses.

“Get the fuck out,” he ordered. “Now!”

At once, they scrambled to leave, knowing not to question their leader. The sound of engines starting followed in their wake, and Klaus turned to the blonde in silent permission to proceed. Her porcelain cheeks were rosy and flushed from the cold air, her curls windswept and disheveled, and he didn’t think he could wait one second longer.

He lunged for her, the impact knocking her back a couple of steps, but he held her in place, one hand grasping on her waist while the other tangled in her silky blonde curls. Fervently, he seized her lips, eager to feel them upon his once again. The short reprieve he had been granted with before did nothing to quench his thirst for her. They fumbled and tugged, whimpered and trembled, and Klaus wouldn’t let her go as they stumbled. His bedroom was suddenly too far, and he needed her.

Now.

A thud followed the dropping of his vest. It was only a modicum of respect for the club’s colors did he haphazardly pick it up and toss it onto the table. Taking advantage of their momentary separation, he grappled with her blouse as she effortlessly peeled off his Henley, both promptly discarded and forgotten. Klaus was having a love-hate relationship with her tight-fitting jeans; it hugged her curves like wet paint, and yet, it proved to be a nightmare to remove, especially in his less-than-coordinated state.

She giggled at his attempts, clutching at his shoulders. Growling in frustration, he yanked the fabric over her hips, causing a surprised gasp to escape her throat. Her blue eyes twinkled in the dim lights, and she had barely stepped out of the pool of denim before he was sweeping her off her feet.

“Klaus!” she squealed as he chuckled and set her down onto the sofa.

Having enough of the distance, he dove in, burying his nose in the crook of her neck and inhaling her sweet scent. It was intoxicating, the way she surrounded him in every aspect; how she seemed to imprint herself without even trying. He peppered her milky flesh with chaste kisses, drawing a trail up her jaw, where he gently nipped at the spot just below her ear. She moaned appreciatively, her back arched and her breasts pressed into his bare chest.

It didn’t take long for her wandering hands to journey down to the bulge in his jeans and undo his belt buckle. His body jerked as her touch ghosted tantalizingly over his zipper. Her fingers inched closer, teasing as she grinned salaciously against his lips—he had half the mind to wipe it off with his tongue—and when he thought he might spontaneously combust from the anticipation, she spared him the misery and slid her entire palm underneath his pants.

“Fuck!” he hissed; eyes squeezed shut in absolute bliss, and yet hating how she had such control over him. “Fuck, Caroline!”

“Well, that is the plan, Nik,” she whispered as she gave him a squeeze.

Klaus ground out another string of expletives. Hearing his name like that, spoken like a prayer and a promise of sin all in one, was fire in his veins. It was dangerous; it was potent, and it was then that he reckoned payback was in order because he would be damned if he allowed her to consume him any further.

With a flick of his wrist, her bra came undone and her breasts sprang free. He scarcely registered her sharp intake of air as his mouth descended on one soft mound and greedily latched on. Its twin wasn’t forgotten, and Klaus made sure to lavish it with the same amount of care and attention, cupping the soft globe and circling a pert nipple with his thumb. Wet, suckling noises harmonized her needy whimpers, her nails sinking into his hair and scraping deliciously against his scalp. 

“Oh, God…” she murmured.

He ground down into her, stilling her rolling hips as he ran his tongue over the bow of her clavicle and nibbled a path up towards her chin till he hovered over her, his hot breath fanning her swollen lips.

“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to call me that, but I suppose ‘God’ of The Originals has a nice ring to it,” he teased.

“Shut up,” Caroline laughed, lightly shoving his chest. “If you’re planning on living up to it, then might I suggest you start actually proving to me just how God-like you really are.”

He smirked. “Oh, love, you know how I can’t resist a challenge.”

“What are you waiting for, then?”

Keeping his blazing stare locked on hers, Klaus hooked two digits into the waistband of her underwear, and in one hard yank, he ripped the flimsy material right down the middle.

“Shit!” she sputtered indignantly. “What’d you do that for?”

He shrugged. “It was in the way.”

Caroline sighed, lamenting on her ruined garment. “You owe me another pair.”

“I’ll buy you a drawer-full but they’ll all end up just the same, sweetheart,” he husked, slowly edging his way down her naked body, dropping kisses at random spots on her creamy skin and reveling in the way she squirmed under his ministrations.

He stopped just shy of her dripping core, saturated in the musk of her arousal, and groaned as his stiff manhood twitched, just begging to be released. Her legs parted invitingly, and it was all the encouragement he needed.

“Klaus!”

She was absolutely exquisite, her rich taste exploding in his mouth and flooding down his throat as he drank. The finest wines in the world couldn’t compare to her sweet nectar; the greatest composers of all time couldn’t recreate a more melodious masterpiece than that of Caroline Forbes keening and panting in the throes of passion. His eyes never left hers. He watched every reaction, every tiny expression that crossed her gorgeous features; found that he was entranced by her beauty, and how she was able to look vulnerable and empowered at the same time.

“Oh…Klaus…I—I’m…”

**I will love you till the end of time**  
**I would wait a million years**  
**Promise you'll remember that you're mine**  
**Baby can you see through the tears?**

Knowing exactly what would take her over the edge, he doubled up on his efforts, lapping at her like a dying man in need of water. Just as she was teetering on the brink of oblivion, he roughly shoved his jeans and pants down to his knees, and with a thrust, he sank into her warm harbor.

She cried out at the sudden intrusion, her nails clawing into his back, and Klaus gritted his teeth in a sheer effort to allow her a moment to adjust.

“Some warning would be nice,” she rasped.

He grinned wolfishly. “Completely missing the point, love.”

“Oh, yeah?” she asked, arching an eyebrow as she wriggled beneath him. “And what point is that?”

“Caroline Forbes, I’m about to fuck you senseless.”

**Love you more**  
**Than those bitches before**  
**Say you'll remember, oh baby, say you'll remember**  
**I will love you till the end of time**


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What happens when you’ve figured out where he’s from?” she asked.
> 
> He answered without hesitation.
> 
> “We go to war.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Apologies for the delay! Here's part 3!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> xXx  
> CeruleanBlues

# Part 3

**Big dreams, gangster**   
**Said you had to leave to start your life over**   
**I was like: "no please, stay here,"**   
**We don't need no money we can make it all work**

Just like that, she was Klaus’ Old Lady.

Nothing was drastically different. Caroline still went about her day working her shifts at the bar, and occasionally the boys would drop by for lunch, or do a quick check-up on her under their President’s orders, but other than the fact that she would spend the majority of her evenings cruising down highways with the club—and more often than not, entertaining Rebekah’s whims and tantrums, or even begrudgingly volunteering herself up as the emotional punching bag to more girls than she could remember—or otherwise engaged in copious amounts of sex, everything else was pretty ordinary.

Women weren’t allowed during Church, which meant that club affairs were kept hidden from her. Regardless, she wasn’t a dumb idiot. She knew the workings of a motorcycle gang; her mom had instilled quite an education in that aspect, though what the sheriff thought of her daughter fraternizing with the enemy was still a mystery. If anybody had mentioned her misgivings to Liz Forbes, Caroline hadn’t heard about it, so at that moment, she would chalk it up to thinking that her mother was blissfully unaware.

Occasionally, she would catch snippets of dealings that were happening, or tasks given to the prospects to complete, but whenever that happened, Klaus was quick to chastise his men about keeping their shit where shit ought to be. In a way, she understood perfectly what he was doing; he was protecting her. The lesser she knew, the better, and if anything, she appreciated that he obviously respected her enough to shelter her from his fucked-up world, especially in an environment where bedding different whores and getting bat-crap wasted each night was a norm to those guys.

To him, though, she was the only one, and he made it his life’s mission to constantly remind her so.

He treated her like a man would treat his significant other, and he showed her a side of him that he wouldn’t ever show anybody else. With her, he wasn’t the feared leader or the cold-blooded murderer; he was simply Niklaus Mikaelson. Truth be told, he was a bit of a teddy bear—he enjoyed cuddling up to her a night, and had a beguiling habit of sketching her when he thought she wasn’t aware—and slowly but surely, Caroline realized that she was starting to fall for him; this person with his flaws and his charms.

And a million shades of gray.

Perhaps she ought to know better.

Perhaps she ought to do as she had planned and keep her distance.

Perhaps she ought to listen to the part of her that told her to run.

Perhaps she ought to ignore the part of her that told her to stay.

“I’ll be right back,” his silken voice murmured low in her ears, and then the warmth from his hands disappeared as he left her side towards the back with Kol in tow.

She understood that it was business.

Turning away from the bar, Caroline observed the scene that she had quickly become accustomed to. It wasn’t pretty; far from it. The bar was called The Hybrid’s Den, and she had come to learn that it sat on neutral territory; a solid ground for meets between MCs. What it meant was that nomads and members alike rode in for all purposes without the code or the law as protection. She watched the patchholders at the corner with a certain degree of misplaced fondness. 

Tyler was animatedly recounting a tale or another to their newest prospects, gesturing wildly in the air and beer dribbling down his arm. Jeremy was sprawled out on a couch, a girl draped over his lap and slobbering all over his face, and that was so typically him to find the skankiest tramp around to satiate his libido. Caroline rolled her eyes, catching sight of Damon brooding all by his lonesome, and wondered what drama prevailed him this time round. Chances were, he was having another falling out with Elena; their back-and-forth was a never-ending love affair. Stefan and Rebekah were off in their own little world—a regular occurrence of shameless grope-fests and public displays of affection—which she wouldn’t mind so much, but she really didn’t need to know about that red thong; the one that was sticking out from Stefan’s back pocket.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

She stiffened, her gaze slanting as a man sidled up next to her and conveniently invaded on her personal space. He was tall and slightly on the bulky side. His chest bumped against her shoulder, but despite his dark beard and out-of-control raven curls, he lacked the leather and the all-important patch that might protect him.

Against her better judgment, Caroline found herself relaxing just a smidge, feeling rather confident that she was safe amongst some of the most dangerous men around. Tyler caught her eye; he and his little posse were already on their feet and poised to intervene. Discreetly, she shook her head, telling him to stand down. Even Damon had jolted out of his funk and was in on the show, looking more murderous than he needed to be.

“What’s a fine girl like you doing in such a dirty place like this?” the unsuspecting—and rather ballsy—fellow persevered, oblivious to her blatant disregard to entertain him.

The corner of her lips twitched almost tauntingly. “Ignoring you,” she retorted, faux-sweetly batting her eyelashes.

“Not for long.”

She scoffed. “I think you need to leave.”

His disobedient hand crept over the surface of the countertop, inching closer to her elbow. “Is that an invitation, darling?”

“I believe it’s a warning, mate.”

The volume abruptly dropped to a low hum in the room.

Klaus stalked over. He took deliberate steps forward, his boots thumping against the cheap parquet, the gait of a predator. His fists were clenched; the scowl etched in his handsome face positively menacing, and Caroline could sense it in her bones that things were not going to bode well for the poor lad who was about to be on the receiving end of the president’s wrath.

She noticed the instant it dawned on the man that he was in trouble, the way he straightened immediately. All of his bravado flew right out of the window as his eyes darted around the bar, almost as if he was seizing up how badly he was outnumbered, and possibly counting the next-to-impossible ways he could escape from being the plaything to a dozen or more bikers.

“Hey, man, I didn’t mean any harm,” he blurted out, palms raised in pitiful surrender as he attempted to weasel his way out, only to have his measly efforts thwarted when Tyler and Damon flanked his sides. “I was just—I swear, I didn’t know she was your Old Lady—”

Klaus barely acknowledged him. “Was he disturbing you, love?”

“No,” she told him calmly. “No, he wasn’t.”

“Flirting, then?”

Caroline surged forward and rested a soothing hand at the center of his chest, hoping to avoid the impending bloodshed. “Klaus, please, don’t—”

He silenced her with a cutting glare. “Did he touch you?”

She paused a little too long.

With startling composure, Klaus gently placed his hands on her waist. “Love, I think I’ll need you to step away.”

Dread filled the pit of her stomach.

“What—what are you going to do?”

His grin was nothing but malicious. “I’ll try my best not to kill him.”

She felt Rebekah’s fingers wrap around her wrist, tugging her away from the line of attack and looking giddy with anticipation. Caroline gaped at her in disbelief. “Are you encouraging this?”

The other blonde simply shrugged. “My brother does whatever the hell he wants. I have a feeling he’d want to put up a show for you.”

Suddenly, the crimson wash of the dim lights turned sinister; a foreboding of what was to come, and Caroline felt her heart pound a stampede in her ribcage. She wanted to shout—wanted to beg Klaus for his mercy—but her mouth ran dry.

The first cry of pain made her flinch. She recoiled at the sight—at the splatter of blood that sprayed the floor—when Klaus sent his fist pummeling into the man’s nose. Her hands flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp of horror at the explicit display. He was ruthless, devoid of compassion as he delivered blow after blow, relentlessly punishing the battered guy from something as harmless as a pick-up line, and a wave of guilt crashed over her soul.

“Stop it! Klaus, stop!”

His fist froze in mid-air, the other firmly grasped around a handful of the semi-conscious offender, his face unrecognizable and soaked in crimson, barely able to hold his own weight.

“Let him go, Klaus,” she sobbed. “Please.”

He didn’t even blink, still consumed by rage.

“Klaus, please.”

The color drained from her features when instead of conceding to her request, he reached into his holster for his firearm. She balked, lurching forward, but Rebekah held her in place. Helpless to the situation, Caroline could only stare as the man she loved took aim and pulled the trigger.

“No!” she screamed.

Just like that, she truly understood what it meant to be Klaus’ Old Lady.

 

Contrary to popular belief, he didn’t take pleasure in killing people; it was simply a necessary evil, and one that he had been engineered to follow all his life. In his world, it was survival of the fittest.

Reflex.

He could put a bullet through someone’s brains faster than it took to think about it.

There was no shame and no penance.

Until he unceremoniously dropped the body in a worthless heap on the floor, motioned for the boys to take care of it, and then spun around to see that heart-wrenching expression marring Caroline’s beautiful face. A chill ran down his spine, reality sinking in at what she had just witnessed, and what it would mean to the way she felt for him.

“Caroline…”

“No, don’t,” she hissed, yanking her arm from Rebekah’s clutches. “I—I can’t look at you right now.”

“Love, I—”

She recoiled when he took a step closer, and his chest constricted, hating the way she sneered at him with such repulse, he might as well have murdered a newborn baby. “I said don’t!” Carelessly swiping at the tears running down her cheeks, she added disdainfully, “I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“Caroline—”

“Get the fuck away from me, Klaus!”

There was no shame and no penance.

There was only dread.

 

Caroline called the one person she knew who would understand. 

The chill of the night nipped at her skin, drying up the wet tracks staining the side of her face, and she really ought to head back to the bar, but she didn’t think she had the energy left to swallow what was left of her self-preservation and turn around. Even so, trekking down the side of an empty highway was probably just as bad a decision—if not worse.

“Hey, Care?”

She nearly wept in relief. “Matt?”

There was a pregnant pause; the line went silent.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly. “What happened?”

Inhaling a trembling breath, she whispered, “Klaus.”

“Fuck!”

Despite the gravity of what had happened within the last hour of her life, Caroline managed a smile, because in all the years that she had known him, she didn’t remember ever hearing him swear.

“Where are you?” he demanded.

She scanned her surroundings; nothing but trees and rolling hills, and the long road ahead. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “A mile or less from The Hybrid’s Den.”

“Hang tight, I’m coming.”

 

“Congratulations, Nik,” Rebekah remarked sarcastically in that lazy droll as she flopped down on the couch next to him. “You’ve managed to successfully eradicate the one girl daft enough to actually have feelings for you.”

Her words grated on his nerves as he scowled into his glass of bourbon, pointedly ignoring her attempt at goading him, knowing that it would only serve her purpose, and that he was above that. Klaus certainly wasn’t in the mood to entertain his sister’s wisecracks—or the lecture he was sure to receive shortly—and most definitely not after all the fucked-up shit that had gone down at the bar. 

Caroline leaving was a slap to his face; a betrayal of sorts.

She was his Old Lady, damn it!

“Oh, lay off him, sis,” Kol sniggered, draping his slightly buzzed frame over an unoccupied chair. “He just got dumped.”

“I didn’t get dumped,” he snarled, slamming the glass down onto the coffee table. “Just fuck off; both of you.”

“So she can’t handle a bit of blood,” Kol continued as if he hadn’t heard his older brother. “I’m sure she was well aware of what she got into when she signed up to be your unfortunate companion; what else had she expected? Roses and candlelight dinners?”

“Is this your idea of a pep talk, Kol?” Rebekah snorted, theatrically flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Because you suck. And you, Nik; you’re being a fucking git. Was it completely necessary to kill the wanker? I think a bit of intimidation would’ve been quite adequate.”

Klaus growled, a sound rumbling from deep in his chest. “He laid his filthy paws on her.”

“Technically, I think it was just a mere brush of his fingers against her elbow,” she corrected with a roll of her eyes. “Nothing that warrants a death sentence. Raging jealousy does not become you, dear brother.”

“Oh, please,” the older sibling scoffed. “I’ve killed for far less.”

“And normally, I’d hum along and pretend to understand your inane need to assert your authority and prove that you’re the alpha male of a motorcycle club,” Rebekah intoned dryly. “But in this case, I’m going to do the female population a favor and remind you that we’re not all fragile little weaklings. You have this really narrow perspective of Caroline, as if she’s going to break into a million pieces, but you’re wrong, you know.”

“Do enlighten us, then,” Kol prodded. “Because it doesn’t seem like she’s Old Lady material after all.”

Rebekah narrowed her eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong. It would do the club a lot of good to have her around. As much as it pains me to admit, she’s the only one who seems to care—genuinely care—about anything at all.”

“With a rigidly boring moral compass, might I add,” Kol sniffed. “Look, let’s call a spade a spade, alright? She’s just not cut out for this world. I hope you weren’t too attached, Nik.”

Klaus remained stoically silent, only half-listening in on their banter.

“Too late, Kol,” his sister smirked. “I think he already is.”

 

The last place Caroline wanted to be in was another fucking bar, but that was exactly where she ended up; seated on one of those high stools with a cup of coffee and sharing a basket of fries between her and Matt. Considering the late hour, the place was rather empty. A jukebox in the corner was playing country music, and nobody was even looking at her twice. Slowly, she began to relax.

“What happened tonight, Care?”

She paused in mid-chew, warily studying the concern written in her ex-boyfriend’s handsome face. “What do you think?”

“Did he—did he try to hurt you?” he questioned, even though it seemed like he didn’t want to know the answer to it.

Caroline tucked some loose strands of hair behind her ear, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “No,” she muttered. “No, he didn’t.”

Matt’s sigh of relief was slightly comical.

“But he shot someone.”

The brutal scene flashed before her, successions of a horror movie; the callousness and cruelty of ending someone’s life. Nobody should have that much power, that much apathy, or that much uncontained animosity. Her ears were still ringing from the gunshot. She didn’t think it would ever stop, but it wasn’t the traumatic experience that terrified her. It was seeing Klaus for what he really was; the outlaw that she had heard so much about. His words—that promise of killing without remorse—replayed themselves like a broken record, and what a fucking stupidly naïve girl she had been. To trust him, to believe in him, to hope that beneath the hardened exterior, he could be saved.

“Shit, Care,” Matt winced. “I’m sorry you had to be there.”

“Yeah, well,” she stuttered. “Who would’ve thought he’d be one of those psychotic jealous types?”

There was a light chuckle before the frown. “He’s possessive and territorial. Klaus did the same to practically all of Rebekah’s past lovers before Stefan stepped in to end the rampage.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“When one gets threatened by the town’s most dangerous man, one doesn’t easily forget,” Matt spat out scornfully.

Caroline leaned in with her eyes narrowed. “And now he’s trying to recruit you into the club?”

He seemed conflicted, then. “You know, I shouldn’t even be with you right now. He’ll come after me, and then he’ll come after you.”

“Why?” she exclaimed. “Just because I walked out on him?”

“Nobody turns their back on Niklaus Mikaelson without repercussions, Care.”

“That’s too bad then,” she retorted. “Because I already did.”

 

Sleep evaded him. Every time he closed his eyes, her beautiful face was all he saw; carefree and laughing with that tinge of innocence that he found completely endearing. It haunted him, taunted him with his failures; his sad inability to shelter her from the monster that he really was. 

Sitting up, Klaus swung his legs over the bed and ran a hand over his tired features. The sheets were too cold, the mattress was too big, and the room was stifling in the way that it hadn’t in a very long time.

Damn Rebekah for planting poison in his head.

Damn his sister for being the voice of reason.

Damn her for making him see what exactly he was truly upset about.

Losing Caroline.

He had done such a splendid job keeping his demons at bay—had foolishly thought that he could keep her in a bubble and away from club businesses—that he had allowed himself to forget how deeply they integrated with his very essence. The ugly, quintessential aspects that made him who he was, he had veiled her eyes to them, and now he was paying the hefty price.

He lost her anyway.

Would it have turned out any different had he done things the other way?

Revealed the true nature of his monstrosity and then hoped against all that she would still love him with all her heart?

The time flashing on his cellphone alerted him that it was half past three. There was no way in fucking hell was he going to get a good night’s rest, and so he grabbed the used gray Henley strewn across his covers and pulled it on before trudging out of his bedroom.

A prospect—Klaus hardly learned their names until they proved themselves worthy—was on watch in the common area, though he was nodding off at the table with a shotgun tucked under his arm. Vigilance was obviously a problem with the newer boys—they simply lacked the finesse it took to rise up to the ranks—and he reckoned this little punk could use a rude awakening. 

Retrieving the emergency pistol from one of the many hiding spots underneath the sofa, Klaus aimed it inches away from the napping buffoon’s feet, and fired.

“Fuck, shit!” he yelped, falling off the chair. The bastard was definitely awake now as he scrambled to stand at attention. “Klaus!”

“Give me a valid reason why I shouldn’t gouge your eyeballs from their sockets.”

The young lad gulped and looked about ready to piss in his pants. “I—I’m sorry, I—I wasn’t—”

“Doing your bloody job?” Klaus sneered, plucking a cigarette from its box. Before he could reach for the lighter, however, the prospect had swiftly offered his own, holding the flame steady as he took a puff. “Where’s Kol?”

“He’s in his room,” the reply came instantly. “He’s got company, actually.”

Klaus rolled his eyes. “Of course he does. Let him know that I’m going out for a ride.”

“Will do.”

 

Sleep evaded her. Tossing and turning amongst the rustling sea of her duvet, her eyelids popped open with a groan. With a frustrated huff, Caroline flung it off her body and hopped out of bed, padding towards the en suite. She splashed some water on her face, hoping it would cool off the fire in her cheeks, and then grimaced when she noticed the dark circles in her reflection.

A low rumbling cut into the stillness of the night.

Her breath hitched, her head turning towards the direction of her window.

Caroline hesitated for a beat before she crept closer, keeping her back to the wall as she peered out at the driveway. He was parked directly underneath a streetlamp, the light illuminating him like a halo, and the irony wasn’t lost to her as it shone down on the macabre patch stitched to the back of his leather vest. She wondered what his intentions were, showing up at her house at such an hour, and almost as if he sensed her, Klaus’ gaze snapped skywards, right into her bedroom.

A squeak escaped her throat and she slipped back into the shadows.

Was he there to kill her? Snap her neck, or shoot her in the head and leave her bleeding to death?

She gulped, her pulse racing as Matt’s warning resonated like a harbinger of doom. No matter how much she didn’t believe that Klaus would hurt her, there was always a nagging reminder that he was unpredictable. Another peek had her blood running cold, because he was now sauntering up her pathway as though he owned the property.

However, before Caroline could do anything about it—even if she wasn’t so sure what—she heard a click of the door downstairs and a squeak as it opened. Muffled voices reached her ears, and she realized that her mother had been awoken.

“Shit,” she whispered.

With as much stealth as she could muster, Caroline snuck out of her bedroom and tiptoed down the stairs. She found an ideal hiding spot and crouched behind a large oak drawer.

“I know you’ve been hanging around with my daughter, Klaus,” Liz informed him tersely, her arms folded across her chest. “What is it that you would want with her?”

Caroline bit her bottom lip; her inner fears had manifested before her.

“I have no ill intentions towards Caroline, sheriff,” he replied. “I enjoy her company. Regardless, she’s a grown woman; she has every right to do as she wishes.”

“Like it or not, Klaus, I’m her mother,” the older woman pointedly reminded him, lifting her chin in defiance. “And I’m not sure if you’ve forgotten, but we have a deal. You keep your business out of the streets, out of public eye, and I’ll think about not sending the cavalry in, but if you’re using my daughter as leverage against me—”

“I’m not.”

Liz regarded him closely, scrutinizing him like she had done so many times over the years. Tension rang high in the air; both individuals set in their ways and their morals, both on different sides of the law, and Caroline hated that she was caught in between.

“Stay away from her,” the sheriff warned. “She has nothing to do with this.”

“Shouldn’t you let her decide that for herself?”

“She’s not one of your floozies, Klaus; she’s my daughter.”

He nodded, a small indulgent smirk at the corner of his lips. “We’ve established that, yes, and I think you’re confusing me with my brother. Kol does have a black book that he uses too often, but I’m fairly certain that you’ve already figured out that Caroline is different.”

“How so?”

“She’s more than just my Old Lady.”

“Don’t you dare insinuate that, Klaus,” Liz flared up. “I will not have you reducing her to such scandalous titles. She is not yours for the keeping, and she damn as hell is not yours to use as an accessory at the back of your motorcycle.”

For some reason, that only fueled his amusement.

“You really think that low of me?”

“Yes.”

He took a bold step forward. “After everything I’ve done for you?”

Caroline stiffened at the statement.

“Klaus—”

“Does she know?” he growled. “Does Caroline know about that day? Does she know that her own father wanted you dead? That one of your own officers took him down after I knocked you out of the way? That he used you as a beard for his numerous drug deals with the Crescent Wolf Clan?”

The word flew out of her mouth before she could stop it.

“What?”

And then she was facing them, reeling from the confession and unable to fully process what that really meant.

“Caroline—”

She met her mother’s eyes. “Is that true?”

“I didn’t want to tell you—”

The world was caving in; it had to be, because there was no fucking way that her mom—her own flesh and blood—had been feeding lies to her regarding her own father’s death. All this while, she had been told that he was caught in a cross-fire between two rival gangs when the fact of the matter was that he had been an instigator. Caroline felt cheated—deceived by the one person she thought she could trust the most—and suddenly, everything zoomed into a tunnel vision.

“Tell me,” she demanded crossing the distance to stand before the older woman. “Everything.”

“Honey—”

“No, you know what, mom? Save it.” Caroline spat out. “I don’t think I want to hear anymore of your lies.” Whipping around, she brushed past Klaus on the way out. “We’re leaving.”

“Of course, love.”

 

They stared out at the rising sun, the sky painted in shades of orange and yellow. Perched on the edge of a rooftop, their legs dangling in midair, they each cradled a steaming cup of coffee in their hands.

Silence.

Just basking in the warmth of a new day.

A slight breeze blew tendrils of her golden hair, giving them a false sense of serenity despite the storm brewing just under the surface. Even in her ruffled state, he couldn’t help but find her absolutely stunning. She truly shone in moments like this; when she was most vulnerable, yet she only seemed to rise to the occasion, facing her deception with grace and dignity. 

His sister was right.

Klaus took a sip of the hot beverage and waited. He knew that Caroline had about a million-and-one questions lined up for him—probably properly filed and color-coded in her head—and as much as he wasn’t looking forward to answering them all, he was aware of how she needed the closure.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He rolled the paper cup between his grasp and licked his lips, carefully weighing his words. “You didn’t deserve to hear it from me.”

“You could’ve at least said something,” she murmured.

“The time I tried—that first morning I came in for breakfast—you were too busy psychoanalyzing me to listen to anything I have to say.”

“Oh, God,” she breathed out, pressing a palm to her forehead. “How could I have been so stupid? How did I miss it?”

“Caroline—”

“And you!” She finally turned to face him, her blue eyes welling with tears that he itched to wipe away. “You were there. Why’d you save my mom?”

He shrugged. “Because it wasn’t her fight to begin with. She didn’t need to be involved. She was just trying to do her job, and she was blindsided by your dad. He sold her out; told CWC that he was playing two sides of the same coin. They believed him, believed his lies—that we were working with the sheriff to take them down and claim their territory—and then he planned to kill her so that they wouldn’t find out.” Klaus paused to clear his throat. “She shouldn’t even have been there. Mikael wanted a straight attack—no officers and no civilians—but someone from CWC must’ve tipped her off.”

“And now your dad’s dead too,” she rasped. “Oh, my God. They did it, didn’t they? Because of my dad?”

His jaw clenched as he glared straight ahead, seeing nothing but the cold hard revenge that he craved just coursing through his veins. “We don’t have proof. The job was clean and there were no tracks. I’m not about to send my men into a slaughter if there aren’t any solid evidence.”

Grave silence fell upon them, both parties mulling the information.

“I’m so sorry.”

Klaus gulped down the last of his coffee before throwing the empty cup off the side of the building. “We swore an allegiance to the club, Caroline. Family above all. No matter what. I protect what’s mine.”

She fidgeted on the spot. “You didn’t have to kill anybody.”

It was clear she wasn’t referring to that night months ago.

“He was an informant,” he spat out like vermin on his tongue. “We found some stuff on his phone. The Salvatores are tracing the contacts as we speak.”

“Or you could’ve just kept him alive and interrogated him.”

He snickered humorlessly. “It doesn’t work that way, love.”

“Matt said that you could’ve killed me just for walking out on you.”

The manner at which she spoke about it left him speechless—an eerie calmness that only came with the disturbing notion of acceptance—and a chill ran down his spine.

“I could,” he nodded curtly. “I probably should’ve. By letting you go, I was showing you mercy, and with all this happening, I can’t afford that.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“You and I both know why.”

There was another pregnant pause; a punctuation to their discussion, and Klaus was certain they had moved past it.

“What happens when you’ve figured out where he’s from?” she asked.

He answered without hesitation.

“We go to war.”

 

She called in sick at work only because Klaus was adamant on keeping his eyes on her. He could always send in his prospects to hover about outside the bar, or have them sit in shifts and just watch her all day, but she wasn’t having any of that. Old Lady to the President or not, 24-hour surveillance was ridiculous, and if anything, having a bunch of man in patches stalk her would only draw unwanted attention.

However, there was no rationalizing with Klaus, and she wasn’t about to defy him a second time, so Caroline had no other options but to ring Alaric up to tell him that she wasn’t going to be available for a while. No stranger to the workings of The Originals, her manager had ceded her the leave without question.

“Hey, Caroline?”

She glanced up from the magazine she had been reading to find Olivia Parker—Tyler’s newest girl it seemed—leaning against the doorjamb to Klaus’ room with a tentative smile on her face.

“Hey,” she echoed. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” Olivia rushed to assure her. “I’m just—Tyler sent me to ask if you wanted or needed anything? Coffee? Some bagels? I’m sort of obligated to get them for you.”

“Oh.” That was new. “Erm…no, thanks. I think I’m set for a while.”

“Sure, just call or text me if you need anything.”

Caroline wasn’t sure what to make of the development. “Yeah, I will.”

The moment Olivia walked away, Rebekah stepped in, looking one part amused and the other part impressed. She flipped her straight-ironed hair over her shoulders and heaved a sigh of boredom as she situated herself next to the still-confused woman.

“There’s no harm in taking advantage of your privileges as Klaus’ Old Lady, you know,” the youngest Mikaelson intoned. “You’re his Queen; everybody else are just your loyal subjects.”

Caroline arched an eyebrow. “Including you?”

“Don’t even think about it. You’d have better luck finding Nik singing Taylor Swift in the shower than me fetching tea for you,” she scoffed.

“Where is he, anyway?” Caroline wondered out loud. “I can’t believe he dragged me out of going to work only to abandon me here to rot in the clubhouse.”

Rebekah’s expression turned serious then, all traces of humor wiped out in a blink. “They’ve found a lead, and that’s about all I know. They’re bringing another chapter with them, but Klaus doesn’t trust that we’d be safe unguarded, so he’s sending Marcel and some of his men over right now.”

“Who’s Marcel?”

“Tall, dark and handsome,” she dreamily stated. “The President of the Ohio chapter.”

“And he’s going on a run just to babysit us?”

“Not us. You.”

**But he headed out on Sunday, said he'd come home Monday**   
**I stayed up waitin', anticipatin' and pacin' but he was**   
**Chasing paper**   
**"Caught up in the game" that was the last I heard**   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song used: “Blue Jeans” by Lana Del Ray


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t fucking care,” he shot back. “They took her from me. I’ll stop at nothing to get her back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! A little overdue, but here's chapter 4!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> xXx  
> CeruleanBlues

# Part 4

**I will love you till the end of time**   
**I would wait a million years**   
**Promise you'll remember that you're mine**   
**Baby can you see through the tears?**

His name was Atticus Shane, a fresh prospect to one of Crescent Wolf Clan’s allies, The Five, and it didn’t take much for Klaus and the rest of The Originals to figure out that Silas, the club’s president, was behind the orders to snoop in the bar and gather Intel. No foot soldier carried out plans without his leader’s instructions, and the Mikaelson demanded to know why an informant had been planted to target Caroline. She had no relation in this feud.

Word had probably made it back to the club that Atticus was as good as dead, and Klaus was geared up and ready for the fight that would await them as soon as they arrived. He wouldn’t put it past the Labonairs to stick their filthy noses in and poke at matters like the cowards that they were, hiding behind other outlaw motorcycle groups.

Tyler rode upfront, leading the pack, twenty bikers behind him as they thundered down the highway in their chariots. The rumbling of the engines was their battle call; their colors proudly displayed on their backs, fueling the power flaring up in Klaus’ being. He turned to face his brother, the Vice President, rolling next to him, and knew that the little squirt was just as antsy to get his hands dirty, the need for vengeance radiating off him in waves, and in a rare moment, Klaus was filled with a sense of pride. He caught Stefan’s reflection in his side mirror that extended to his other fellow brothers and grinned.

Mikael would’ve loved this.

As a tribute to his father, Klaus revved his bike. The sentiment was echoed back to the group, all the way to the last prospect, and as a final salute, he pulled a pistol out from his shoulder holster, raised it to the sky, and fired three punctuated rounds.

 

“Hello, ladies.”

Caroline glanced up, pausing in her task of chopping some carrots, and found a dozen or so men flooding into the clubhouse. Almost immediately, she recognized Marcel. With his confident strut and domineering presence, there was absolutely no question that the dark-skinned man at the head of the group was the President of the Ohio chapter. Despite his intimidating demeanor, he greeted her with a warm smile.

“Well, well, well,” Rebekah crooned from her spot on the couch, where she had been meticulously painting her nails a bright shade of rouge. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“Always a pleasure to see you too, Bekah.” His molten eyes twinkled impishly. “Might I remind you how ravishing you look in red?”

Arching an eyebrow, the blonde simply flipped him off with her middle finger. Marcel chuckled good-naturedly—obviously used to the woman’s volatile personality—and turned his searching gaze at the other Old Lady in the room. His interest was piqued.

“And you must be the intriguing Caroline Forbes.”

She refused to falter under his intense scrutiny, because damn it, she wasn’t a piece of meat to be ogled by anybody. He could be fucking Zeus for all she cared; she wasn’t going to be objectified like somebody’s property, no matter how the men in the club perceived her to be. She wasn’t Klaus’ toy, so she wasn’t as hell going to let them think she was. Perhaps it was as such where they were from, however, this was Klaus’—and by association, her—territory, and she wouldn’t hesitate to put Marcel in his place, with or without shooting his balls.

“I see you’ve heard of me,” she replied, sarcastically sweet.

“Ah,” he nodded. “Klaus did mention about that feisty attitude. Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m not here to cause you any discomfort, and I’m sure your President would hear about it if I were to stir some shit, so you can relax. My men and I are here to hold the fort down; nothing else.”

Caroline tilted her head, faking contemplation, but knowing that every word was true. “Well, in that case, gentleman, make yourselves at home.”

 

They pulled up at a tattoo parlor—a two-storey shop house that was most definitely used as a front to disguise any drug-related activities—and lined their bikes up in a neat row directly facing the six other Harleys belonging to their rival MC.

It was show time.

Kol had a bat in his grasp. Stefan preferred his trusted bo staff for easy wielding. Damon loved his firearms too much to bother jumping into a brawl, and Tyler had multiple knives on his person. Klaus, though, he was a man after the old-fashioned fistfight. He thoroughly enjoyed the crunch of bones underneath his knuckles and the cracking of skulls against hard surfaces. To him, that was more satisfying than sending a bullet straight through someone’s head.

They stalked up to the shop and barged in.

There were four customers on the ink beds being attended to plus three others in accompaniment, all of whom either screamed or gasped at the sudden intrusion. Aside from the artists, two other patch members were present. Reflexively, they jumped to their feet, reaching for their nearest weapons.

“Sorry, folks,” Klaus announced as he flipped the sign on the door. “Shop’s closed.”

People scrambled to leave the premises—that one terrified teenager barely able to cover her torso with her shirt—and when the last of the civilians had fled, the two motorcycle clubs faced each other in a stand-off. Klaus cocked his head, studying his enemies—bloody prospects sent as sacrificial lambs—and that in itself ought to tip him off that something wasn’t adding up. Sure, these imbeciles were showing their loyalties to the club, but at least one Enforcer was usually there to lead the charge.

“I see Silas sent some fucking cockroaches to do his bidding,” Kol sneered, languidly swinging his bat back and forth. “Let’s make this easy. Which one of you would like to live, and then run back to daddy and cry on his shoulders?”

Klaus strode back to the tip of his group. “Come on, lads. We’re giving you a choice, because you and I both know that the only way you lot are getting out of her are in those fucking body bags we’ve brought along with us.”

“Or,” the other Mikaelson chimed in. “You could just tell us who killed our Chapter President, and maybe we’ll think of letting you go.”

Either way, that didn’t spell good news to any of those six members cowering before them. Snitching was a punishable offence in any biker bylaws; some would rather die than tell on the club.

“How about some motivation, then?” Klaus took another sinister step forward before gesturing at the exit. “Open the door,” he instructed one of his men, and then with a theatrical swipe of his hand, he added, “now, who would like to go first?”

Apparently, nobody did.

Calculative glances were mutely exchanged.

Klaus heaved an impatient sigh and plucked the knife from Tyler’s belt. He weighed the weapon in his hand, and then tossed it languidly straight in the air before catching the sharpened blade by its tip. “I really don’t have all day for this shit.” With effortless grace, he launched it across the room, impaling his intended victim right between the eyes.

Man down.

“Son of a bitch!”

All hell broke loose.

It was a suicidal attempt on his enemy’s part, and for a fraction of a beat, he pitied the fools dumb enough to surrender their lives for a patch that they might never see on their backs. They might have better luck begging on their knees and kissing his arse for mercy, but he knew that they wouldn’t crawl out of that shop alive.

Klaus had a prospect by the front of his shirt, his face a bloodied mess and was fast losing consciousness. Perhaps he ought to carve his heart out of his chest and feed it to the vultures out in the dessert.

“When you see him in hell, tell Silas I said hi.”

 

Marcel had stepped out for a while to answer a call, and Caroline took that opportunity to pull Rebekah into the kitchen in the pretense that she needed some help with the cooking. If the others found it odd—considering the youngest Mikaelson couldn’t crack an egg to save her life—nobody made a mention of it.

“What is it that’s so important that you can’t wait for my nails to dry?” she huffed, inspecting the damage on her layer of coating.

“Something’s not right. I don’t trust Marcel,” Caroline murmured as she turned to continue stirring the broth in the pot. “He’s being a bit too shifty for my liking. Did you realize how he hasn’t once sat down? He’ll run a hole in the carpet with the way he keeps pacing back and forth.”

Rebekah rolled her eyes. “He’s on guard duty, Caroline, what do you think? Obviously he’s not here to lounge around and sip on cocktails.”

“Yes, but why isn’t he getting his damn prospects to patrol our perimeters instead of cooping them all in here like a bunch of chickens? It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that a look-out would do wonders in case of an attack. Where did they learn their tactical strategies from, Spongebob Squarepants?”

“You know, if I didn’t know what a neurotic control freak you are, I’d just think you’re a delusional whack job,” the other blonde snickered. “Look, Marcel’s been with The Originals since forever, and his loyalties to the club earned him the Ohio chapter. He’s paid his dues and he’s definitely got blood on his hands for Mikael, so believe me, you have nothing to worry about. Let the big boys handle their shit and we’ll just do what we do best.”

Caroline arched an eyebrow. “Which is…?”

“Be the fucking eye candy they come home to, of course.”

“That’s tragically shallow.”

“You don’t get to talk,” Rebekah countered. “You’re the president’s Old Lady.”

Scrunching her nose up, Caroline pointed the ladle in the other blonde’s direction. “You know, I don’t think it means what you think it means.”

“It means,” Rebekah paused to snatch the utensil out of Caroline’s grasp. “That you don’t have to tolerate anybody’s bullshit. You get to fuck people up every now and then, and you get to come up with some really creative ways of hazing the prospects.”

“That’s just—”

Gunshots rang high out front, cutting her mid-sentence, and before Caroline could register what the hell was going on, Rebekah had tackled her to the ground. They landed hard against the center island as the violence escalated on the other side.

“Stay down,” she hissed.

They were under attack.

Shouts and yells could be heard coming from the common area as the two women hid behind the cabinets. Curled up in a ball, Caroline’s first instinct was to shield her head and squeeze her eyes shut, but her terror-stricken muscles were hardly cooperating. She flinched at every loud crash, every trigger pulled, every agonizing cry of pain, and willed to every God and deity above to end the horror.

“Where is she? Find Klaus’ bitch!”

Caroline gasped. “What?”

“Fucking hell, why the fuck are they after you?” Rebekah asked through gritted teeth.

“Search the rooms, you piece of shit!” someone else hollered.

Glass shattered overhead. Shards rained down on them like a deluge of razorblades, and Caroline winced as they sliced through her skin. A couple of them were lodged in her arm, but the sharp stings were fast forgotten in the height of her adrenalin as she darted her gaze around in search for a safer place. Pressed up next to her, Rebekah muttered curses and promises of death under her breath.

They needed to get the fuck out of there.

“Rebekah, listen,” she whispered urgently. “There’s a truck out the back. Do you know how to hot-wire it?”

Blood was trickling down the side of Rebekah’s flawless cheek. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Do you know where the keys are?”

“How the fuck should I know? That truck belongs to Damon,” Rebekah grumbled. “He could be keeping the keys between his arse for all I care.”

Caroline released a shuddering exhale. “Well, let’s just hope it’s in there, then.”

“What? Why?”

“We’re making a run for it.”

“You are clearly out of your fucking mind,” Rebekah shrieked. “We’ll get ourselves killed!”

The shots have subsided, and Caroline could only surmise that the majority of them were either dead or seriously wounded, which meant that it was the perfect time to make an escape.

Her bluish-green eyes blazed with determination. “If we stay down here, they’ll find us, and we might or might not get shot either way.”

“Check the fucking kitchen, Ray!”

Rebekah groaned. “Fine! But you get to go first.”

“Alright,” Caroline nodded. “On three. One, two, three!”

She made a dash for the back door—a good couple of feet away—and scrambled to turn the knob. Her hands were shaking; the beads of sweat clinging to her forehead, and heavy footsteps were approaching, but the damn thing just wouldn’t open.

“It’s stuck!”

“Jiggle it!”

The door finally gave way, but before Caroline could take another step, a shrill scream had her whipping back around. She froze at the sight: a terrified Rebekah Mikaelson on her knees, lips trembling and tears streaming down her blood-stained face, with a gun pointed to her temple by a member of The Five, and a chill ran down her spine.

“Make one move and I’ll blow her fucking brains out,” the low-life minion viciously threatened.

“No, don’t!” she blurted out. “Let her go. It’s me you want, right? Take me then.”

A figure loomed behind her.

“With pleasure.”

The last thing she felt was a sharp jab to her neck before the world turned black.

 

“What the fuck—”

Klaus had ever been truly scared only twice in his entire life—when he had to break the news to his mother that her husband had been murdered, and when he received Elijah’s life imprisonment sentence—but the instant he stepped into the clubhouse and saw the grotesque carnage, he very nearly crumbled on the spot. Horrified by the sheer bloodbath, he stumbled in with the others in tow. His chest constricted as the scenes uncovered, only becoming worse the deeper he ventured. Once the fear ebbed, the anger took over, encompassing every fiber of his being.

“Marcel!” he bellowed, his booming voice reverberating off the walls. “Marcel!”

“Shit, Bekah!” Stefan ran past him towards the kitchen, and Klaus didn’t hesitate to follow him. His sister was sprawled on the littered floor, knocked out cold with scrapes and bruises marring her porcelain skin, and the Seargeant-at-Arms wasted no time cradling her in his arms as he gently tried to coax her into opening her eyes.

“Fuck, where’s Caroline?” the irate president demanded. “Caroline! Bloody hell, Caroline!” A gnawing dreadful feeling churned in his gut when he failed to receive a response, but he refused to believe that she was dead. Turning to the others lurking about, he barked, “Damn it, find her! Now!”

The men immediately scattered off in different directions, and Klaus averted his attention back to his beloved sister. “Please tell me that she’s breathing, Stefan.”

“She’s going to be fine, Klaus,” the younger Salvatore assured him calmly. “I’m going to take her to the ER, alright? Get her checked out, make sure there’s nothing serious.”

His response came instantly.

“Go.”

Klaus stood at the center of the room, glaring down at the array of discarded weapons and the seas of bodies bathed in crimson, and sought to search for one that belonged to his fellow chapter president. He spent a good couple of seconds with his head bowed in respect for his fallen brothers, vowing to scour down even the smallest of cracks in search for the ones responsible for this massacre, and to avenge each and every single one of their deaths till the very end.

It had been a trap. He knew that it had been way too easy taking down those prospects, but it was nothing more than a cheap distraction. How had he fucking missed that? Hadn’t he learned anything from Mikael? And now, his complacency was going to cost him dearly. If anything were to happen to Caroline, he didn’t think he would ever forgive himself. Grabbing the first object he could find—a cheap factory-made glass ashtray—he flung it across the room in frustration.

“Klaus?”

He spun around as Marcel staggered in from the back door, battered, with a gunshot wound to his left arm that he had managed to wrap up with a strip of cloth. His bottom lip was split open and there was a nasty gash across his forehead, but other than that, he appeared like any sane person would after such an ordeal; exhausted and defeated. Two other members crept up behind him—both equally as thrashed as their leader—and although the sight of his family alive should spark some sense of relief, the only thing that Klaus could see was their failure in defending their fort, and he was certain that if his father was still alive, he wouldn’t accept such incompetence. Chances were, Mikael would probably put a bullet into his boys’ heads himself, no questions asked.

And Klaus was positively livid.

Marcel could sniff the other president’s fury a mile away, and at once, his hands shot out in surrender. “Klaus—Klaus, you’ve got to believe me, we tried—”

He drew his gun and pointed it straight at his friend just as Kol re-entered the room.

“Whoa, hey, Nik—”

“Mikael would’ve shot you and not batted an eyelash,” he snarled, his cold blue eyes glued to Marcel’s stunned expression. “But I’m going to extend the courtesy that my father never did and grant you the mercy of explaining yourself. Where the hell is Caroline?”

“They took her,” the quaking man declared. “Silas came with an ambush; we didn’t see it coming. They came with trucks instead of their bikes, and we didn’t have a lookout. Nobody heard anything, and then all of a sudden, they attacked. I was busy and I couldn’t protect the girls, and before I knew it, Silas had taken Caroline and Rebekah without me knowing.”

“He left Rebekah here,” Klaus informed him darkly. “We found her lying in the kitchen unconscious and Stefan’s brought her to the hospital. Count yourself fucking lucky, mate, because if Silas had taken Rebekah too, you wouldn’t be here breathing right now.”

“I—I’m sorry,” Marcel apologized, visibly despondent as he gestured all around him. “I let everybody down and it kills me; I lost my chapter, damn it. I shouldn’t have allowed that to happen, and in any case, it wouldn’t have happened, but we were grossly outnumbered.”

Slowly, Klaus lowered his firearm as he regarded the other man with a certain degree of suspicion. “What do you mean we were outnumbered? The Five isn’t a big MC. At most, they have about ten to fifteen full-patched members, and those prospects that they had sent to bait us were nothing but filth. How were we outnumbered?”

“Some of the men didn’t have any colors on.”

Kol nudged at the nearest corpse with his boot, rolling it over on its stomach, and true enough, its back was bare. “He’s right, Nik. Bloody bastards. You know what that means, right?”

“Nomads,” Klaus spat out.

“They’re recruiting free riders now?” Damon piped up, his face contorted in disgust. “Hiring them as hit men?”

“For the right price,” Kol added.

“But who’s got that much money? The Five’s got shit,” Tyler retorted. “They couldn’t even afford their own dope, and have you seen their Harleys? They’re all stock, right off the shelves; no mods.”

“The Labonairs,” the Vice President shrugged. “CWC wouldn’t miss a chance to take us down from the ringside. They don’t want to get their pristine hands dirty, so they send in the missionaries.”

“Alright, look, I don’t care who’s fucking responsible for this,” Klaus snapped. “I need to find Caroline, and I need to find her right now. Comb the woods of Virginia if you have to. Just. Find. Her.”

 

Blinking against the harsh brightness of the spotlight beaming down into her eyes, Caroline willed the haze out of her vision, fighting against the blurriness until she came to realize that she was alone in an empty basement. Her skull was pounding; a dull ache throbbing along the nape of her neck from where she had been clocked, and she groaned in annoyance from such a cheap shot. She tried to stretch her stiff muscles, only to find that she had been firmly tied to a chair with thick ropes. An experimental twist of her wrist made her wince from the chaffing.

“Goddamnit,” she ground out hoarsely, knowing that there was no way in hell she could escape without chewing out her arms and legs. “Son of a bitch.”

Sighing in resignation, Caroline slumped back in her seat and tilted her head away to avoid blinding herself with that damn spotlight. Seriously, was it really necessary to torture her corneas that way? There was probably a military base somewhere in the Middle East that could definitely profit from that. She squinted into the semi-darkness and was able to discern a bunch of stack-up boxes at one corner. Other than the bout of random articles strewn about on the concrete flooring, she was surrounded by nothing but four blank walls. There was a set of stairs that led up to a door, and she didn’t doubt that it was her only way out.

Was she in someone’s home? 

A warehouse? 

An abandoned building?

“Hey!” she called out. “Hello? Anybody up there? Hey!”

For all she knew, Caroline could be miles away from Virginia—probably a state away in some deserted junkyard—and it wouldn’t be long before she found out who the fuck had abducted her so rudely, had gone against The Originals so boldly, and had a death wish, as to risk being on the receiving end of Klaus’ wrath.

“Damn bikers.”

Just then, she heard a faint clicking of the lock before the door creaked open and a slither of natural light fell upon the room until it was completely blocked by a tall silhouette. He took his own sweet time making his way down; each punctuated footstep a stark contrast to her galloping heart until he emerged from the shadows and smirked down at her.

“Hello, Caroline,” he drawled. “I believe we haven’t met. My name is Silas, and I’m the president of The Five.”

 

Klaus testily scrolled through the list of contacts on his cellphone, his grip on the device so tight, he reckoned he might just crush it in two. He listened as it rang once, twice on the other end, before someone finally answered.

“Hey, Klaus? What’s up?”

“I have no time for pleasantries, Matt,” he growled. “There’s a bike waiting for you out in your driveway and a bottom rocker in the saddlebag. Get your arse on it, and in ten minutes, you’d better be on the fucking road.”

“Wait, what? What’s going on?”

“Caroline’s been taken by Silas and his crew. Your first task, prospect, is to help me find her.”

 

The man bent over, his lips curling into a grimace as he invaded on her personal space. Their noses brushed, his beer breath vile against her skin, and Caroline struggled not to cringe. Valiantly, she kept her piercing eyes glued to his bottomless russet orbs, injecting as much contempt as she could in her penetrating glare.

“My, my, my,” he crooned, reaching out to twirl a lock of her blonde strands around his index finger. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing? You know, I don’t think I’ve ever remembered a time when Klaus was interested long enough to have his own Old Lady. He treats all his cunts like the whores they are, but you’re different aren’t you? You’re something else.”

She refused to be intimidated. “Are you going to kill me?”

“And waste such a mouth-watering treat?” He gave her hair a tug. “No, I think I’d like to have some fun for all my troubles.”

“Screw you.”

His salacious grin grew. “Well, aren’t you being generous, now? Unfortunately, I don’t take that bastard’s sloppy seconds.”

Caroline did the one thing she could do.

She spat in his face.

Before she could think to regret her impulsive actions, Silas had a handful of her blonde tresses in a tight grasp and was yanking her head back. A gasp flew out of her throat as he seethed next to her ear, and she swallowed hard.

“You’re going to pay for that.”

He drew the other arm back, ready to strike her when the door swung open and halted his attempts. Miffed at the interruption, Silas released her and whirled around. Her savior—a young woman, blonde, and around Caroline’s age—cautiously descended the steps with a tray in her hands.

“What the fuck, Camille?” he roared. “Who the hell gave you the right to come down here?”

“Shut up, Silas,” she muttered, dodging past him to kneel in front of their captive and set the tray down on the ground. Caroline warily peered at its contents—a plate of grilled cheese sandwich and a small bottle of water—before narrowing her eyes up at the man still fuming silently on the spot. “Relax, I’m not trying to poison you or anything. I just so happen to possess better hospitality skills than some people.”

Silas scoffed, and then promptly stormed back up from where she had entered, slamming the door behind him that caused a reverberation throughout the basement. Camille didn’t appear the least bit bothered by his temper, and instead coolly uncapped the bottle and held it up to Caroline’s lips. Greedily, she took four hearty gulps.

“Why are you helping me?”

“Look, Caroline,” she began, before hesitating for a split second, looking rather conflicted. Picking the sandwich up, she offered a bite of it to the other woman. “I’m sorry that you’re caught in the crossfire, but I’m just carrying out a responsibility. I’m not even supposed to be speaking to you.”

“Are you Silas’ Old Lady?”

Camille snickered. “Yeah, he wishes. Marcel would skin him alive if he dared to try.”

The earth stopped spinning.

Her windpipe closed up.

“M—Marcel?”

 

Seconds turned to minutes.

Minutes turned to an hour.

An hour turned to two, and then three, and then four.

The sun had long since disappeared beneath the horizon; the cerulean sky had darkened to a blanket of star-splattered velvet, and the sterile conditions inside the hospital ward did nothing for Klaus’ foul mood. He sat by his sister’s bedside, in one of those incredibly uncomfortable couches, and kept watch as she slept. With his arms folded across his chest, the President waited anxiously for his youngest sibling to wake up.

A quiet knock on the door alerted him to Stefan’s presence as the latter came into the room carrying a steaming cup of coffee in each hand. The Sergeant-at-Arms was frazzled, his usually artfully tousled hair now falling flat over his forehead, and his eyes were bloodshot from the lack of rest.

“Thanks, mate,” Klaus murmured gratefully.

Stefan took a seat. “Any news on Caroline yet?”

The mention of her name sent his guts churning and his fingers twitching to wreck havoc across the state of Virginia. Every negative update he’d received had been followed up with slews of cussing and more death-related threats on people’s lives. He loathed this unfamiliar sense of helplessness, of not getting the upper hand, of failing to be one step ahead of his enemies, and as a result, the woman he loved had to suffer the consequences. His promise to keep her safe was broken; and he was utterly disgusted with himself for allowing it.

“Nothing of significance.” His tone was acidic as he pictured burning Silas on a stake. “I can’t risk sending anybody over to their territory until I’ve received confirmation of their location. We’ve already lost nearly the entire Ohio chapter; we can’t afford to lose anymore brothers.”

Stefan was silent for a beat. “Klaus, I know that this is not something you’d want to hear, but I think we need the sheriff’s help.”

“No.”

“Hold on, just listen,” Stefan implored, ever the voice of reason. “Caroline’s her daughter; I think Liz deserves to know that she’s missing. She can dispatch her deputies and put ears out in The Five’s territory.”

Klaus turned his sharp gaze on his best friend. “We don’t deal with law enforcers, Stefan. Which part of an outlaw biker group do you not understand?”

“This isn’t about the club anymore,” he appealed. “We need the sheriff’s resources if we’re ever going to find Caroline. We have no idea what Silas wants—”

“I do.”

“What? What do you mean—”

“What else would he fucking want, Stefan?” Klaus hissed. “What does any MC want? Territory. Silas is just a puppet to CWC’s plans to take us down, and I’m a hundred percent certain that he and his men were the ones who killed Mikael. They’re using Caroline to get to me. They want me to go after them.”

“And it’s going to be another trap.”

“I don’t fucking care,” he shot back. “They took her from me. I’ll stop at nothing to get her back.”

“You will,” Stefan replied, an edge to his tone. “We’ll tear those sons of bitches apart. They hurt Bekah too, and I’ll be damned if I let them get away with it, but we can’t just ride up there and attack because I can guarantee you that we’ll have CWC to deal with as well. They’ve already outnumbered us by taking down our Ohio chapter. We need to play this smart and not let them think that they have the upper hand.”

The primal side of Klaus was screaming to be released, to fuck it all and charge off with everything he’s got, but his Sergeant-at-Arms was right.

“What do you have in mind?”

Stefan pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and began scrolling through his list of contacts.

“I’ve got a plan. But first, I’ll need to make a call to the police department.”

**Love you more**   
**Than those bitches before**   
**Say you'll remember, oh baby, say you'll remember**   
**I will love you till the end of time**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song used: “Blue Jeans” by Lana Del Ray

**Author's Note:**

> Song used: “Blue Jeans” by Lana Del Ray


End file.
